Pull Not a Fast One on Me
by Fraying Threads
Summary: Challenged Whitebeard. Kidnapped by Whitebeard. Become a Whitebeard? Ace finds the idea of joining the strongest crew in the world as laughable. He took years to form the ties of brotherhood with his own brothers. There was no way he would see them as anything beyond 'condescending' and 'arrogant'. He was no half-wit who would be taken in by kind gestures and warm smiles. Right..?
1. The matter of sustenance

**Hi everyone!**

**Look, it's me posting another story even though I haven't completed my other stories yet! That's right. No discipline at all.**

**Regardless, my mind has been brimming with ideas for this new story, and it's not so much a story but drabbles, really. I had to write it out. I could do little else.**

**Just a note, this explores Ace's difficulties as he traverses his initial 100 days with Whitebeard. I just find the whole idea of him joining them to be slightly unrealistic. Why did he join them? What was the turning point? What drew him to them? For someone who hated the very idea of a 'father' to join what could have been the only crew in the world to have a shared father figure was a little confusing.**

**So, be warned. Angst, a little humour and sarcasm, and more angst. The forging of nakama-ship, of acceptance, and of the connection between people. Chapters may be short or long, it really depends. I have specific scenes in mind, you see. I foresee this having about 3 to 4 chapters, maybe. We'll see how it goes!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

[Three weeks in]

No one had told him how utterly difficult (_impossible_) life could be. How complicated and warped and absolutely frustrating, so much so he could not comprehend how anyone could derive any joy from this twisted thing called _life_.

Or maybe it was just his life, to be specific. _That_, he did know. Whichever path he chose to walk was one riddled with strings of bad luck, bad choices, bad bad bad. Not to forget his cursed fate to be hated and executed upon sight once his darkest secret was out.

Ace may be one unlucky poor soul, but he was no fool. His lineage could only be kept for so long. It was only a matter of living his life the best he could before he reached its end. The only problem was: how?

The teenage pirate was left in a room on a ridiculously gigantic ship that looked part whale and part, well, ship. He had (_bad, bad choices_) chosen to take on the fishman Jinbei, ended up fighting for five days straight, and then his body conveniently chose to collapse just as Whitebeard came for his head. Ergo, strings of bad luck. For the record, he was not stupid enough to challenge Jinbei for the sake of fighting against Whitebeard. He had only sought a way to approach the Yonko to issue a formal challenge. It was just pure (_bad_) luck that he had few options to reach the giant man. He could have attacked the territories under the Whitebeards' protection, launch an assault against his allies, or practise a little self-preservation and approach an ally for information. Was it really his fault if said ally immediately took up arms and swore to never allow 'someone like Ace' to get anywhere near the Yonko?

Yes, he had wanted to challenge Whitebeard. The strongest man in the world. If he lost (_…_), he would hopefully be allowed to leave to lick his wounds, both real and metaphorical, and then… And then he would once again be wandering the seas for another quest to take. If the Yonko had decided to end his miserable 17 years of life, well, he would be dead and he would not be able to care anymore anyway.

He threw his hands up in the air and all but fell into the bed the room had. It was not his room, per se, but they had implied it was empty for him to use freely. It was the room he had first woken up in on this ship and had been quick to morph into his only private space here.

He covered his eyes with his arm. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered under his breath.

What was he to do now? The stupid Whitebeards wanted him to join their crew, of all things. As if his post as Captain himself held little significance. As if his own crew meant nothing. But, no, the worst of it was the accompanied idea of _family_. They offered a whole shipload of brothers and sisters and a damned father to boot. If he had known they were out on the prowl to adopt random murderous morons, he would have booked it first chance he got. Heck, he would have avoided all the territories under the man.

His life was hard enough, for seas' sake! He did not need to go through another unnecessary build-up of stress at the whim of some stupidly strong pirate!

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

How was he to tackle this? What was he going to do? _Why_ was there no handy guide that told him what to do when a giant Captain insisted on adopting him as a son and he did not want to say yes?

A quick series of knocks interrupted his rambling thoughts. He shot up just as the door opened to reveal the first division commander. Cool blue eyes rested on him, but Ace knew the man had already catalogued all and any dangerous item in view, and was as ready to tackle him to the ground as he was to offer him a hand.

"What do you want!" Ace snarled, voice harsher than he had expected. But that was fine, seeing as these people had kidnapped him and he was not at all happy about it.

The blonde did not seem fazed at the greeting. "Thatch will be coming by with your lunch in about fifteen minutes," he said calmly. "I came to tell you in case his arrival startles you, yoi."

Ace sneered, "How thoughtful. Did he send you to tell me that?"

"Yes," Marco answered. His face remained expressionless, but the teen could have sworn something had flickered across that blank countenance. "Last time he came with food, you barrelled into him and sent the food flying."

Ace watched with narrowed eyes as the blonde seemed to come to a decision, one that was a second later made known when he stepped foot into the room and shut the door behind him.

The words 'get out' were at the tip of his tongue, but the younger fire-user barely managed to restrain himself at the last second. This was not his ship. This was not his room. It was not his place to decide where and when the Whitebeards could impose themselves upon this space. That heightened awareness would only exacerbate his shame if he pushed them to highlight that titbit of information.

Instead, he threw out the next thing that came to mind: "Is there something _else_ you need?"

Marco leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed. "No, yoi," he said simply.

Ace clenched his teeth, trying hard to rein in the desire to hurl a fireball at the pirate. "You mean to say you wanted, for no reason, to stand in this room to stare at me?" The next thought sent a twisted feeling of anger mixed with petty satisfaction through him. "Or," he continued with a sneer, "you thought I'd hurt your precious chef when he does come knocking."

The first commander's eyes, at first impassive and guarded, turned cold. "You may want to take greater care to watch your tongue, Fire Fist."

Ace refused to admit the words had sent a chill down his spine. He had heard before how the commander had spoken with his comrades, knew for himself how calm and yet disturbingly warm he seemed to his crew. This, though- this reminded him again that this man held one of the greatest powers across the New World.

_Not that it should matter_, his thoughts went wild, _seeing as you are trying to attack his Captain_.

Before the teenager could shoot back an acerbic response, the door opened once more to reveal a grinning head chef. The fourth commander barely glanced at his ship-brother and went right in with a tray of food balanced precariously on his shoulder.

"Food's here!" he announced cheerfully. He set the dishes onto the nearby dressing table. He clapped his hands when neither pirate answered him. "Am I interrupting something," – at this, he turned his attention to Ace – "or do you want us to leave you in peace for your midday meal?"

Ace hated the way the brunette appeared to pretend everything was alright. As if anything here was normal. His jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for your food," he said, voice flat.

Thatch looked unperturbed. "You did not," he agreed. "But how long do you intend to refuse food from us?"

The young Captain ignored the logic behind the Whitebeard's reasoning. He pushed away the reminder (both verbal and in mind) that he had eaten close to nothing the past week. "That's my problem to solve, not yours."

"I'm the head chef. It's my responsibility to ensure everyone on board is fed," Thatch answered evenly. "Regardless of how they may feel about it."

"Strange how you offer your generosity so freely with one you seek to imprison."

"I'm the head chef," came the repeated answer. A pause. "Besides, if we wanted you dead, there are other more effective and efficient ways to do it."

Ace offered him a sardonic smile. "I did say you sought to imprison me, not kill me. But thank you for the kind clarification."

If the chef was fazed by the teen's words, he did not show it. He drew back to stand beside his crewmate. Marco, to his credit, only observed their exchange with an air of disinterest, as if his previous coldness had all but been imagined.

"You're a tough piece of work, aren't you?" Thatch remarked.

"Must have been quite the surprise when I didn't just roll over. I wouldn't take it to heart if I were you."

Thatch raised an eyebrow at the response. "The food's not poisoned, you know. I can take a bite out of each dish first if that helps."

"It really wouldn't."

"Or if it's not to your liking, I could whip something up more to your taste."

Derisively. "Ah, imprisoned but with a personal chef. Do you offer this to all your prisoners?"

"Our offer of recruitment, yoi," Marco finally interjected, "is not offered easily."

Ace bared his teeth in what he hoped was a deranged smile. It would not do to have them so relaxed about him, after all. "Lucky me," he said, dragging the words out.

Marco stared at him, clearly unimpressed, but there it was again, a flicker of something odd crossing his countenance. He exchanged a long look with Thatch. As if by unspoken agreement, both turned away towards the door.

"Eat the food, Fire Fist," the chef said over his shoulder. "You will need your strength for whatever it is you have planned."

"Screw off."

"You can't avoid it forever," came the blunt response just as the door _clicked_ shut.

Ace let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Relief flooded through him as he was finally left alone with his wandering thoughts and his own wholesome company. He fell back onto the bed, trying hard to ignore the temptation that was on the dressing table. His stomach rumbled in protest.

"Guess I'll just die then."

* * *

Ace barely made it to the top of one of the many crow's nest on the Moby Dick. Dark had fallen, making it dim enough that he was almost a silhouette against the sky. He held back a relieved sigh as he dragged his worn body onto the safety of the lookout point. A cold wind brushed through his surely tangled locks. He considered putting on his hat but decided not to. There was no reason to draw more attention his way.

It had already been three weeks into his 'stay' with the Whitebeards'. He was tired and hungry, and there was nothing he wanted more than to curl up into deep sleep after a hearty meal. An image of a campfire and a treehouse flashed through his mind's eye, sending another deep tug of longing through him. He had never missed the safety of home more than he did then.

All he could feel now was the constant tired exhaustion that pulled at his limbs. His muscles felt strained, as if dragged by a heavy weight that never eased. While once he would have been able to easily run long distances, every step now felt like wading through mud. It did not help that Whitebeard could pack a punch as hard as Garp. Ace went down like a sack of potatoes every time.

The only thing that worsened his situation was his lack of food. He ate what he could (and his hatred towards himself grew each time), but refusing entire meals was taking a toll on his health. His stomach _hurt_. He was losing body mass. And there were times his vision became riddled with black spots, as if the very idea of fainting was even close to acceptable at a time like this.

The fire-user rubbed the back of his hand against his neck. Why did this have to happen to him, of all people? Why could he not have gotten a pirate crew that did normal pirate things and duelled him to the death? _That_ made sense. _This_ did not. This only confused him and forced him to make a decision about something he did not even ask for!

Ace sighed again. He dragged himself to his feet, wanting to see the night sky. He had been holed up in his room when not attacking Whitebeard this whole time. He wanted – _needed_ – a little air. A little touch of freedom.

He stared and stared, his gaze traversing across the endless expanse of darkness above him. He studied the twinkling lights that dotted the sky, searched out the moon, and remembered once more how this had been his favourite act as a child. The world up there was not beholden to the laws on the ground. It whispered a promise of freedom that he could never have.

Perhaps it was a calmness he had not felt in the past three weeks, but Ace did not react when he felt a brush of displaced air behind him.

"I don't suppose you'd mind a little company, yoi?"

"If I said I do," Ace answered evenly, "would you leave?"

A pause. "No."

"Then why bother to ask?"

The soft sound of footsteps answered him until he felt the strong presence of the Whitebeard's first division commander stop next to him. "It was only polite."

Ace snorted. "And polite will convince me to join your crew," he said, sarcasm layered thick over his words.

As always, Marco's answer was smooth and not at all taken by surprise. Ace almost hated it. "It takes more than that to show you your place here with us, but it is a start, yoi."

A scowl twisted the younger pirate's features. He turned to glare at the commander, though the effect must either have been lost under the dimness of the sky or the man was just immune to it. "Sometimes, I can't tell if you're making a mockery of me, or are just deluded enough to believe I will eventually join your crew."

"Would it help if I told you neither?"

Ace narrowed his eyes. "What do you think is going to happen?" he demanded. "That I'll eventually succumb to your kind generosity? That I'll fall to my knees and beg to accept your invitation? That I'll just shed whatever" – he waved his arm at the air, almost violent – "dreams I've ever had before meeting all of you, drop them, and just find _my place here_? What the hell do you expect?"

Marco seemed to consider him, his cerulean eyes twitching only slightly to indicate he had heard. His eyes were half-lidded as they ever were. But Ace knew not to underestimate that. This man had a strength that could possibly rival Whitebeard, if anything he had heard about him had an ounce of truth in it.

"Rather than answer that," the blonde said quietly, "answer me this, yoi." He leaned forward to rest his elbow on the railing, his chin on the palm of his hand. "What do you expect from this? You know you won't succeed. Even if you do, you will have the entire fleet of this crew after you. Either way, it's a lose-lose situation for you." He turned to regard the younger pirate with a piercing stare. "What do you hope to gain?"

Ace returned the stare, but with one that is wide-eyed and almost cornered. He swallowed. He almost felt sick. The heavy sense of loss and confusion within him stirred to life once again. He wanted to know the answer to that too.

"You wouldn't understand," he whispered.

"Try me."

Ace shook his head. "No!" he snapped. "You don't get to turn the interrogation on me, Whitebeard! You kidnapped me and you're keeping me here against my will. Isn't that good enough!"

"I know this isn't in the name of revenge."

The Spades captain tried hard to keep from shaking. It might be from anger, confusion, or even plain lethargy. He did not know. _You don't know anything_, a voice whispered in his head. "Shut up!" he hissed, drawing back to put more space between him and the other intruding pirate. "Don't pretend to understand!" He himself did not understand anything. "I don't know what you're up to, but I can tell you I won't miraculously form some kind of kinship with you or anyone from your crew. I don't know how you can even think that! That it would work out somehow!"

If Marco was displeased with the outburst, he did not show it.

"And!" Ace continued in his tirade, unheeding that the commander was only listening to him in silence. "What makes you think this is good for your crew? I attack your captain every day and your response is _not_ to withdraw your damned offer to join you?!"

"Oyaji" – the teen flinched at the word – "wishes for you to join the crew, yoi," Marco responded, shrugging as if that was the only thing that made sense in the world. As if the young pirate had not just snapped at him.

"And if he asked you to die, I suppose you'd follow his every order blindly? Is that it?"

"I would trust that he would never have asked me to unless he had no other option. So, yes, I would heed his command."

Ace did not step back as much as he recoiled. The commander only regarded him with a continued seriousness. As if he was waiting for the next rebuke to answer to. When he saw that the younger pirate only gaped at him in silence, he tilted his head. "I imagine you must have been quite the Captain, for your crew to have come after you, yoi. They refused to stand down until we promised no harm had come to you," he commented. "For you to have such a crew, it must be that they trust in your judgement and decisions, that they trust in you." He paused, seeming to weigh his next words on his tongue. "So what has you so surprised, Captain of the Spades Pirates? The idea that one could trust so unreservedly in another person, or the idea of you joining our crew?"

Ace hitched in another breath, feeling as if he was slapped. "That doesn't even make sense!" Trust? _Trust?_ It was his crew's choice to trust in him and look where they were now. "Your captain is as human as anyone of us! You can't honestly be saying that he's incapable of making the wrong judgement, that he could make the wrong call."

Marco remained unfazed. "If he makes the wrong call, then so be it. We will handle it together, yoi, as we always have."

"Really? Say, I join your crew right now. I join you right now, pretend to be all good and happy, and then attack your – oh, I'm sorry – _our_ captain when his back is turned." Ace held his arms in front of him as he presented the picture-perfect image. "How about that trust now?"

Ace did not know what he had expected from the commander, but it sure was not the way the man had stared at him, eyes a little wide, before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A hand was quickly lifted to hide that smile – and yes, it was a damn smile! – from view.

"Ace, yoi," Marco said in the same soft but firm tone he was prone to using. There was, however, an underlying hint of mirth in his voice. "You wouldn't do that."

"Y-you don't know that!"

Marco only looked amused. "I may not know who you are, Fire Fist, or how you came to be here. But I do know you are as honest as a person could be. It shows in your attacks, in the way you carry yourself, and even the way you speak to me. You could try to pretend as you said, yoi, but I doubt you would be able to hide it." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "If you could even bring yourself to, that is."

Ace hated the way the other man was looking at him in calm understanding. As if he knew Ace, as if he understood. "Don't speak as if you know me," he snapped.

"Like I said, I don't know you," Marco said again. He turned towards the ladders that led the way down. "It looks like you came here for a breather. I will leave you to it, yoi." Then, as if in afterthought, he added, "Don't forget the dinner Thatch left for you in your room. It's not good to skip two meals in a row."

And with that, he was gone.

…

Just to be spiteful, Ace returned to his room, took the cold food that was to be his lunch and dinner and threw them over the side of the ship. Tray and all.

* * *

The first sign that anything was wrong was the pains in his lower abdomen.

Ace woke up with an alarming ache in his stomach, interspersed with a sharp tug that seemed to _dig_ into his insides and twist it until it bursts. What was it _now_? He could not catch a break, could he? He held back a whimper when another searing throb shot through his already weakening body.

He struggled to sit on the bed. He hunched in on himself, hoping the slight movement would ease the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Was this- was this the after-effects of eating little to nothing over four weeks? His body had probably burned up whatever energy it could to sustain him (and his consistent attacks against Whitebeard). _Maybe_, he thought, almost delirious, _this stupid 'iron' stomach is eating me inside out now._

The pirate forced in a ragged breath. He wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep the pain away. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to be _alright_.

He must have sat there for several minutes, lost in his own world of staggering pain, until something wet touched the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly. Great. He was crying in pain now. In absolute agony and alone in a room that was not his, in a ship that was foreign to him, amongst strangers.

_Freedom_.

Ace heaved in a stuttering breath. He clutched at his stomach as he stumbled to his feet. Maybe a breath of fresh air would cool the contracting pain. He leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to curl up and die, and timed his breaths.

_1…2…3…_

_1…2…3…_

_1…2…3…_

He did not know how long he stood there, eyes closed, but the sharp spasms appeared to take a momentary recess. He could have cried more, but the dried tear tracks reminded him how weak he was. What hope had he if he could not even stand a little bit of pain?

Ace blinked tiredly against the black spots dancing in his vision. It was unlike another narcolepsy attack. Though that, that was another pain in the ass in recent weeks too.

Just as he thought his luck could not have gotten any better, the door to the room shook in a series of sharp knocks.

"Ace! Got your lunch, I'm coming in!" came the cheerful announcement from what could only be the fourth commander.

Ace jerked back just as the door opened. And, wait, what was that? _Lunch_? Did he sleep through the morning?

Thatch strode in with all the confidence of a man set at home. Just as he always did every day, he placed the tray of food on the dresser. "I tried a fusion of West Blue and Grand Line food for you to try today, seeing as you probably didn't enjoy yesterday's," he was saying. "Is West Blue where you're from? It'd be much easier to cook for you if you'd just tell me what you liked, but if it's not West Blue, there's only three left to try."

Ace tuned out the expected tattle. His eyelids slipped shut. Perhaps this was payback for all the evil he had done in life. And damn his very existence would have already guaranteed him a high seat in hell.

"Fire Fist?"

He was so distracted he did not notice when the prattle had stopped.

"Ace?"

Ace opened his eyes to see Thatch standing right before him. There was an odd, odd expression on his face. Almost like…concern?

The brunette pressed the palm of his hand on the fire-user's shoulder.

"Ace, are you alright? You don't look too well."

With every word, Ace felt his insides tumble again. It seemed ready to explode inside him, a build-up of searing agony within the confines of his flat plain stomach. With a gasp, he curled into himself as he slowly slid to the floor.

Thatch went right down with him. "Ace?" he repeated urgently. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I'm getting you the medics."

Ace watched him through swimming vision, unable to comprehend the words that tumbled off the pirate's mouth. The contracting pain in his abdomen demanded all his attention.

The last thing he felt before he succumbed to blessed unconsciousness was something comfortingly warm wrap itself around his hand.

* * *

When Ace wakes, his body feels so heavy he feels he could fall asleep and never return to consciousness again.

Wherever he was, the mattress beneath him was almost unbearably soft. There was a blanket that covered him from mid-torso to his feet, though why he needed it, he was unsure. He should not be able to feel the cold too terribly.

His vision, however, did improve when he summoned enough willpower to crack his eyes open. It took him a moment, but he recognised the plain whites of the infirmary ceiling from that incident…a long while back? He decided he did not care. Something sharp pulled at him when he fidgeted, and he turned to see there was a small plastic tube jammed into the middle of his right arm. There was also a bandage wrapped around his left knee and his left hand.

Ace felt like he had no energy left and so he remained silent even when he felt a pair of eyes drill in his person from his side.

"Do you not want to hear, yoi?"

Ace let out a soft sigh. "W-" The word got stuck in his throat and he coughed. Something twinged within the regions of his abdomen and he reflexively flinched, remembering quite vividly the sudden pains that had him pass out like a princess.

Something moved beside him and suddenly there were fingers and the palm of a hand pressing against his stomach. It moved in a rhythmic motion, as if soothing the aches into silence.

Marco must have seen his look of incredulity, for he explained: "Bay, our doctor, says this would help. You have been eating so poorly that your body was close to shutting down. Your injuries from your fight with Jinbei also reopened. That, and several other injuries, your physical health took quite the turn for the worse, yoi."

Ace gaped at him, eyes wide. No, it was not weird at all to have the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates massaging his stomach as if he was a child with a tummyache.

"You're lucky Thatch found you when he did," the blonde went on, appearing unconcerned that the younger pirate was all but a human-shaped mess of an internal freak out. "You could have saved yourself a lot of pain had you approached us sooner."

The teen swallowed, wanting a little water to soothe his throat. So he could yell at the other man for being too familiar. And to get his bearings too. He pawed weakly at the latter's miracle hands and glared until Marco sighed and relented. He could not, however, stop him from assisting when he tried to sit up.

"I'm fine," he rasped. "Get away from me."

Marco ignored him and smoothed the blankets down.

Ace groaned quietly. "I can't do this," he muttered. "You're killing me. You just don't know it."

"To be contrary, I do believe we just saved your life, yoi." The commander pretended to think about it. "Or, at the very least, saved you a great deal of pain."

"Why…why is it always you?"

"What do you mean?"

Ace mustered what he hoped was a sharp glower at Marco. "No matter what I do or what happens, you're always there. Why is it always _you_?"

There was a long pause in which the blonde commander regarded the younger pirate. If Ace knew any better, he would have said the man looked hesitant.

"Because you are strong," Marco finally said.

"What?"

Marco eyed him for a moment longer and then stood to collect a mug from the near by table. "I am the First Division Commander of the crew. It is my duty to ensure everyone is safe. That includes my family and now, you too. I keep them safe from you, and you from particular overzealous siblings who may get too close, yoi." He filled the mug with hot warm water. There was another drawn out silence.

When the next words came, it sounded as if each word had been chewed and carefully crafted out. "You asked before why I trusted so unreservedly in my father. He listens to the concerns of the crew and he acknowledges them. I trust him because I know and understand that he makes his decisions _in view_ of these concerns." He turned towards Ace, hot drink in hand, not seeming bothered by the heat that radiated off the mug. "I don't pretend to understand why he asked you to join the crew, but I trust that it was for a good reason that I don't see yet. That is also why I am here, to see for myself what my father saw in you."

The commander offered the drink to the stunned teenager. "And also because Oyaji had asked that I guide you should you need assistance, yoi," he added, casual and not at all offensive.

Ace's eyes shifted from the man's impassive features to the proffered drink. He did not know if he should feel affronted or flattered or just plain irritated at the admission. He considered upending the drink onto the pirate's lap, but the idea of defiance just made him feel more drained.

"If you spill this," Marco offered, "I'll have to tell everyone you fainted."

A dark red flush spread over the younger's cheeks. "You wouldn't!" he hissed in surprise.

"You don't know me enough to determine if I would or would not, yoi."

"So you're just going to tell everyone?!"

"There is no shame in being ill." Marco shrugged. "But I won't if you drink this."

Ace shot him a dirty look. "Fine!" he snapped. It was unfortunate his movements could not reflect the same annoyance when his hand trembled to take the drink.

Marco narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight. "Hold on." He got up again and returned a minute later with a much larger mug with a bamboo straw in it. "Here, this should help."

Ace only mumbled under his breath and took it in his hands. Marco's much larger hand guided his until the mug was nestled nicely on his lap. He ignored the warmth on his skin, and worked even harder to dismiss the reluctant warmth inside his chest. "Thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome."

"This doesn't change anything. I may want to take on your captain, but I was taught to be polite."

"Alright."

"I'm serious!"

An amused lilt. "I understand, yoi."

* * *

**There it is. Again, as it's specific scenes, there is no strong 'The End' to each chapter. Rather, each chapter seeks to show the interactions between Ace and crew members (ergo, Marco, Thatch, and you know the drill).**

**Do leave a review! If you have any requests, just drop me a suggestion. It might actually fit the storyline.**


	2. The matter of night terrors

**Hey everyone!**

**I have too many ideas for this fic it's terrible. I have two others to think about, but nope, this one comes first apparently.**

**Anyway, because it's late and I want to sleep, I will keep this short. Please read WARNINGS before you read on.**

**WARNINGS: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS NIGHTMARES. IT MAY CONTAIN DESCRIPTIONS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR YOU. THIS INCLUDES VAGUE DESCRIPTIONS OF CHOKING, ALMOST DROWNING, AND FIRE. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ THESE PARTS, PLEASE SKIP THE NIGHTMARES. ****I will set pre-warnings before the part for nightmares start too.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

It started with a nightmare.

Perhaps it was the constant vigilance that strained his mind so. Or maybe it was the lack of comrades he could trust his back with. It could be a number of things, really, that filled the young pirate Captain's days with such trepidation.

He thought it was probably his own idiot brain about to combust from overthinking day and night.

"_He threw away the food again."_

He remembered quite vividly still how he was holed up in the room they had given him for the moment. He was sitting ramrod straight, back against the door, as he listened to the strongest crew in the world gossip about him behind his literal back.

**_[PRE-WARNING: NIGHTMARE I]_**

"_Again?"_

_An unknown voice piped up. "If he wants to_ _die so badly, why not just jump off the ship and be done with it? That food could have been saved for someone else!"_

_Ace merely closed his eyes. There was an odd stirring of exhaustion pulling at his entire person. As if the words drained the energy from his core of self._

"_That's not your call, yoi."_

_Ah. Finally, a familiar voice._

"_He's wasting precious resources!" someone argued fervently._

"_Do you know how many times we've had to fix the ship because of his sheer stubbornness? If he wants to leave, just leave."_

_There was a dull thwack that might have suggested someone's head had been thumped with a fist. "You know Oyaji's orders."_

_A groan. "Fine then. Let's hope Oyaji finally gets tired of that brat. I'm up to here with his nonsense."_

_Thatch's deep voice joined the conversation. "Siblings," he seemed to say sternly, "Ace might just be your future brother. Be kind."_

"We're_ your brothers and sisters _now_. Who cares about what some upstart rookie wants?"_

"_Yeah! Aren't we more important?"_

"_Well…you are, but-"_

"_Come on! At least let us vent our frustrations a little bit. He's not one of us yet. He's not under our protection yet either. That makes him an enemy!"_

_A chorus of agreement joined the declaration._

_Ace sucked in a ragged breath. He slowly got to his feet and stumbled across the room, careful to turn his front to the door. There was an uneasy, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Something sharp. Something pained. As if to further test his nerves, the voices on the other side of the wooden barrier that separated Ace and Whitebeards disappeared, leaving a ringing silence that might have been a scream in his ears._

_He jerked when a series of three knocks rattled the doorframe. Thatch swung it wide open not a second later._

"_Fire Fist," he said. His normally cheerful voice was flat with disinterest. Behind him were faded and blurred faces of what must be his siblings. But what sent the biggest chill down the teen's spine was the figure right at the back._

_It was Marco. Or a version of the Phoenix that sported an extreme pale pallor. There were stretching dark shadows beneath his dark circles. His eyes were blown so wide it might have been malformed, with his blue irises turned an almost pitch black against inflamed orbs. He appeared taller too, rising feet above the others, as he stared the teenage Captain down. Yet, the most disturbing feature was the way the shadows seemed to cling to his very skin._

_Ace took an inadvertent step back._

"_Fire Fist, hey," Thatch was saying as he drew the teen's attention back to him. "Don't take this the wrong way. You heard what they said, right?" He pointed to his crew with his thumb._

_Ace quirked an eyebrow, pretending that there was no drop in his stomach. He was brave. He was a Captain, Luffy's brother, and he was brave. "A waste of your precious resources, am I right?"_

_Thatch's grin was empty. "Great! I don't have to explain it to you. I'd feel bad when they" – he paused as if in thought, then shrugged – "you know."_

_The raven-haired pirate felt his muscles lock in anticipation. His gaze traversed the growing crowd. This was not a fight he would win. But he had always known it would be a fight to the death the moment he woke up on the Moby Dick._

_So why did he feel such pain in his heart?_

_There was no warning when the pirates lunged at him at once. Ace ducked and sent a column of fire their way, not pausing to see if his attack had worked and dove into the fray. He punched someone on the underside of their throat, then swiped the feet of those about to tackle him to the ground, then leaped off someone's back to create a domino's effect on moving human beings._

_It was really too bad that Ace, in the end, was just a rookie Captain._

_He was slammed to the ground by a flaming hand. His eyes widened when he came face to face with that deformity that was Marco the Phoenix. The blonde himself seemed unconcerned with the growing fear in the teenager as he leaned closer to press his fingers into the vulnerable curve of the younger's throat. His eyes did not blink, did not seem to even see._

"_We won't kill you, so don't worry about _that_," Thatch's voice was saying as if in commentary to the worst day of his life. "We'll just teach you a little about discipline on this ship."_

_Ace gasped when he suddenly found himself bound on the deck of the Moby Dick. His arms were tied together and his legs were chained to what might have been a huge boulder. He was surrounded in all sides by various members of the Whitebeard crew._

"_That should do it!"_

"_Really? We won't get to see anything. That's boring."_

"_We'll see when he comes back up, you moron! It's so hard to please everyone."_

_A displeased huff. "Fine! Next time we get another stray, we do it my way, alright!"_

"_No way! My idea was next in line!"_

_Ace kept his gaze fixed on the sky. Sweat dribbled on his forehead as his heart beat furiously in barely restrained fear. It was all he could do to keep from struggling to release himself. He would fail, he told himself. There was no need to degrade himself further._

_His breath hitched when the Marco-lookalike bent over him again. A startlingly cold hand touched just above the part where his heart was galloping a damn marathon._

_The wraith-Marco-thing finally spoke. "You will not need this where you thread."_

_Ace flinched and tried to draw away. Maybe even subsume himself into the wooden flooring. "W-why?" He cursed himself for not being able to shut his stupid, stupid mouth._

_The thing tiled its head, as if confused. "We are the strongest crew in the world," he said, his words slow and enunciated as if speaking to a child. "We require certain forms of change to sustain ourselves."_

_The confession hit Ace like a brick. Why, why did his heart hurt? "Entertainment," he choked out to himself. He let out a strained sound that might have been a laugh or a cry. _Entertainment…

_He did nothing when the crowd cheered as he was dragged to his feet. He kept his eyes lowered to the chains binding him. He might as well be an observer, for all that he felt as he was shoved towards the open plank._

_The 17-year-old felt something touch his shoulder. And then the boulder was chucked off the side of the ship. The chains rattled violently as it was yanked after it, the pull getting stronger and tighter until Ace was swept off his feet and dragged off to cheers and shouts._

"_Make this interesting, son."_

_It was only when he was about to crash into the surface of the unforgiving waves that he realised that there was a dark, mottled red where his heart should be. Ah, he realised. He felt nothing as it was gone._

_And then he was under._

_**_[END OF NIGHTMARE]_**_

Ace nearly cried out when he awoke to find himself tangled within the sheets of his bed. His tense body instinctively fought against the restraints as he threw in all his might to escape his unwitting prison. His struggles only rewarded him with a hard landing onto the stiff flooring. It was only then that his right senses caught up with him and he breathed heavily in undisguised relief, his body half-sprawled, half-trapped in the utter evil that was the blankets.

It was only another dream. It was not real.

_Not real_, he chanted like a mantra in his head. It was a poor attempt of comfort amidst near consecutive nights of horrifying nightmares. But it did, for what it was worth, help him separate his night terrors from his living reality. It was all he could do.

His fate must truly be cursed, meant to be ever riddled with traps and hurdles that he could barely overcome. One would think he would become more adept to get over his violent deaths, now that he 'died' every single time he succumbed to unconsciousness. He should have gotten used to it. Just go through the motions, get mocked, get beaten up or chained down or both at the same time, and then die. Why did he have to wake every time with such acute fear?

He was so unbearably weak he wanted to cry.

Maybe it was the lingering emotion of alarm that had yet taper off completely, but Ace barely managed to muffle a cry when someone knocked on the door.

His eyes were wide when the door was opened to reveal a smiling, pleasant Thatch. Whose face changed into immediate concern when he saw the younger half on the floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he all but shoved the tray off food from his arms to the table. "Did you fall ill again?"

Ace forced himself with sheer willpower not to move when the older pirate knelt next to him. "I'm not sick," he almost choked out. It was all alright. It was normal and expected for him to be on the floor when breakfast came knocking, so why was the Whitebeard staring at him with that look on his face?

"Why are you on the floor?"

"My sleeping habits are hardly your concern, is it?" Ace bit back.

Thatch continued to regard him with something that looked almost confused. Or maybe it seemed entertained. Ace did not know anymore, but he did prefer it to the disinterested default look Thatch always sported in his own dream world of terror.

"…did you have a bad dream?" the commander asked slowly.

Ace shook his head, fast and almost violent. "No," he answered. "No, I didn't. I don't know why you would think that."

Thatch somehow saw fit to touch his shoulder in a poor attempt to make him feel better, but the touch felt like a brand. Like a faint warning before he was pitched into the sea. He flinched and he shrugged it away. The commander seemed unbothered when the fire-user got to his feet and wasted little time to put some distance between them.

"You've done what you came to do," he said coolly. "Please leave."

If the brunette appeared surprised by the sudden politeness, he did not show it. He did, however, _not_ move. It appeared that there were similarities between his night and day realities. _At least he's not trying to gut you like he did that-_ he cut the thought off. There was no need to torment himself further when he was awake.

"I promise I'll eat the food," he heard himself saying. _Pathetic_, a voice whispered in his head. "But I will only if you leave."

Thatch's countenance cleared and an expression of cheer replaced its prior concern. "Alright then," he said agreeably. "As long as you eat every morsel. I will check."

"Fine."

"I'll leave you to it then. Let me know if it's not enough, alright?"

"I will."

Ace sighed in almost relief when the other pirate shot him what might have been an assuring smile before leaving him in peace. Now- now, he only had to get this day over and done with.

* * *

The Captain of the Spades Pirates would forever deny that he had largely holed himself up in his borrowed room out of fear.

There was nothing to be afraid about. If he left the only limited safe space he had on the Moby Dick, there was little chance for him to encounter pirates who had just the previous night tried to choke him to death, right? What were the chances he would freak out over _nothing_ and lash out at a crew who held his very life in their hands?

Slim. Zero.

The only reason, he told himself for what must have been the umpteenth time of the day, he stayed in was so he could regain his strength and come up with a course of action. And the best way to do that was clearly through sitting in hushed tension on the mattress (falling onto the floor near every morning was really bad for his back) while simultaneously attempting to see through the walls to the outside through sheer willpower alone. At least, if anyone came looking for him, he would be ready to… He would be ready.

It was unfortunate that he could only keep this up for hours at a time. It was made apparent early on that his lack of assassination attempts on Whitebeard had concerned the impossible-to-please crew. They – the commanders and _Marco_ – hounded after him even more.

"_No attacks again today?"_

"_You seem weary. Are you alright?"_

"_Fire Fist. I know you aren't fond of us, yoi, but you know this – whatever this is – isn't good for you."_

And so he had lived up to their expectations. He continued his attacks. Tried to stab the old man good and then resigned himself to crashing into another part of the ship as he fought to remember that these attacks were in retaliation to his own. To no one's eternal surprise, the commanders only appeared displeased by his actions. Just what did they want from him?

_Probably your sanity, but in tiny, pathetic pieces_.

Ace supposed he should count himself lucky that that were his only present troubles. That, and his current predicament and of course the ever-building urge to scream at the four walls around him.

He wanted _out_, but he did not want what was _out there_.

It was just as well then, that for better or for worse, it was the time of the day again in which he bravely ventured out of this terrible but needed space for the outside. It took him but moments to gather his dagger and several more to gather himself before he was out the door. It was like pulling off a band aid, really.

The first thing that glared at him was the Sun. They must have hit one of those New World parts where the blazing glory of solar power worked extra hard to scorch everyone in view. It was plain luck that Ace was made of fire, and the only shield of defence he needed was to cover his eyes in shade. He chewed the insides of his cheeks grimly. Assassination in broad daylight it was, it would seem.

It took (unsurprisingly) very little time for Ace to get his ass kicked by the Yonko. A lunge from the back and the giant Captain had lazily raised an arm to swat the younger pirate away like a fly. The fire-user did not bother to yelp as he crashed into a pile of crates. Sharp, prickly wooden things dug at his back as he panted for breath. That did not get any more fun either.

The teen ignored the pirates who surrounded him to offer a helping hand. Nope, he also did not feel a slight thrill of uneasiness at their proximity. Many Whitebeards were in fact not strong in physical strength. He could take them, he reminded himself.

"Get out of my way!" he snarled at them when they refused to back off.

It did not escape his notice how some rolled their eyes at his response while some others only stared mournfully at the wreckage behind him.

"He's wasting precious resources," someone behind him muttered.

Ace stiffened at the familiar words. "Deal with it, you ingrate," he hissed as he swivelled around to glower at the offending pirate. "You're lucky I didn't burn down your ship."

The pirate frowned but lifted his hands in the universal sign of surrender. "Don't get mad at me. I was just saying."

Ace did not respond to him and instead took off. His heart was beating fast and quite as suddenly he wanted to put as much distance as he could between himself and the congregation of pirates. He wanted – _needed_ – space to himself. When he rounded a corner, he paused for a second, the palm of his hand resting on the wall next to him as he attempted to catch his breath. There was still the smidgen of discomfort churning inside him. But what else could he do? His whole life was a rollercoaster ride of uncomfortable pain.

"Ace!"

The pirate in question jerked and then he was punching the owner of the voice square in the face. Thatch stumbled back a few steps. He looked up at Ace in surprise, his hand already rubbing at his jaw.

"What is going on, yoi?" A new voice joined in.

Ace turned so fast towards the voice's direction he almost got whiplash.

Marco shifted his assessing gaze from Ace's raised fist to the still surprised chef. His blank features remained unchanged, but the teenager could have sworn there was a brief flicker of displeasure. "Did you hit him?"

Ace lifted his chin, refusing to be intimidated. "You don't have a problem with my attacks on your Captain, but you are bothered by this?" he tried to scoff.

"It was an accident," Thatch said. Completely discrediting the teen's words, the jerk. "I startled him."

Marco breezed past Ace and reached the chef just in time to move Thatch's hand away from pressing into the quickly bruising area. The blonde studied the injury with an intensity that made the raven-haired pirate shift uncomfortably.

Oh. A certain realisation washed over Ace and he tensed even more than he already was. This was the first time he had attacked a member of the Whitebeard Pirates. Oh oh oh. Marco looked ready to enter battle from that one punch alone. Maybe his nightmares were not nightmares, he thought distantly. Maybe there were an omen for the future.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the fourth commander was complaining.

Marco huffed. "You could have a fracture. Let me _see_," he said again as he slapped the brunette's flailing hand again.

"It's _just_ a punch, Marco. It's not like he stabbed me or something."

"I would take you more seriously if you took things more seriously than you do, yoi. Which you don't."

"Ouch. That would hurt me if I actually believed you."

Marco sighed again. He turned to Ace, looking suitably unimpressed. "Should I be concerned that you will start punching anyone who surprises you?"

Ace found his voice. "Maybe you should be," he challenged. This was it. This was where they tied him up and tossed him over the sea.

Before the Phoenix could answer, Thatch interjected, "I called him a few times, but he probably didn't hear me. He only reacted when I kind of shouted really loudly at him."

Marco hummed under his breath. "So you decided that surprising a known volatile pirate on board our ship was a good idea and then you got punched for it."

The chef looked sheepish. "You don't say it like that."

"How else should I say it, yoi?"

"I don't know. In a way that's more flattering, maybe?"

"No."

Ace shook his head, effectively drawing their attention, to clear the sudden overpowering need to do something. Scream. Shout. Run. Or perhaps a voluntary dive into the sea. A mess of emotions mixed with the confusion whirling in his head. _They are dangerous!_ he cried out in his head. _They are fooling you!_

"Ace, we haven't seen you around the ship lately," Marco chose to say when he remained outwardly silent, as if making small talk with that kind of conversation opener would delight the teen into a full conversation.

"You see me now."

"So we do, yoi." A pause. "Could I possibly convince you to join me in a walk around the ship?"

Ace stared at him blankly. "No." He only wanted to disappear.

Marco inclined his head in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by the refusal. "Perhaps another day then."

"No," Ace said again. Something in his voice must have changed for there was a slight but noticeable shift in the way both commanders carried themselves. They looked sharper. Wary, even. "Stop this ruse, both of you." He jerked his chin at the chef. "I attacked him. What are you going to do about it?" He narrowed his eyes in frustrated anger when they only stared at him strangely. "Out with it! I know you won't let me off, so say how you intend to punish me already!"

"You've got it wrong," Thatch said, shaking his head.

Marco's eyebrows furrowed. "We do not intend to punish you, Ace," he said slowly. "Why did you ever think that?"

Ace huffed out a laugh. "You can't fool me," he said with a sneer. He gesticulated at their surroundings. "So, what will it be? Kick me off to drown? Throw me into the cells? Maybe smother me to death while I'm asleep? Or maybe a stab right through my gut is more your cup of tea?"

With every word that spouted from his lips, the more horrified the two commanders looked. It was less obvious on the first commander, and Ace did not know how he even knew the other man's not-so-hidden feelings.

Thatch finally had had enough of the increasingly vivid descriptions of how they intended to brutally end his life. "Stop it! We aren't doing any of that to you!"

"For _now_. I'm only here for your entertainment!" Ace shot back. "Once I get boring enough, you're going to end my miserable existence anyway, so why push it off!"

The last of his words died into silence. Tense anticipation held his body almost hostage as he waited for the two to act on their clearly hidden agenda. To give proof to his accusations. He was not asking to be killed, no, but an understanding as to why he was here would make things so much easier. That, and he would go down fighting too.

When Marco finally spoke, he did with his hands spread before him in a gesture of peace. "You are not here for our entertainment, yoi," he said seriously. "You are not. I have told you once before and I will say it again, because it appears you're labouring under the misconception that you are here for us to torment you." He paused, as if to give more weight to his next words. "You are here because Oyaji wants you to join the family. For you to be one of us, as our equal."

And then Ace was stepping away from them in disbelief. "Equal, right," he bit out in derision. "And I suppose my 'stay' here has been relaxing and enjoyable. Not a torment at all. _I love it here_, couldn't you tell yet?"

"Only because you insist on isolating yourself. You refuse to even try to see what has been offered to you, yoi, and yet you dismiss this option as beneath your regard," Marco answered. "You aren't even giving us a chance."

Ace's temper burst into an inferno of fury and utter indignation. "A chance?" he repeated angrily. "You _kidnapped_ me, you stupid buffoons. You separated me from my crew. I'm not _obligated_ to give you a stupid chance for you to stab me in the back!"

"If we wanted you dead, we could have done it many times over by now," Thatch interjected. "We aren't trying to kill you."

"Torture, kill, really, what's the difference? And I did mention 'entertainment', didn't I?"

"Why do you say this, yoi? We haven't harmed you, unless you count Oyaji's defence against your attacks as purposeful torture against your person." Marco strode forward to lessen the gap between them. Their eyes met for a moment, startling Ace when he caught the sliver of growing fury in the other's cerulean orbs. "Who was it?" Marco was saying, his voice hard and angry. "Who hurt you?"

Thatch caught on. "Someone hurt you?" he demanded. Unlike Marco, his eyes filled with concern. "Who did?"

Ace pressed his lips together. He refused to believe their reactions were genuine. It was a lie, to lull him into a sense of false security. It would make their grand reveal much more hilarious. He would become one of those priceless stories the Whitebeards would share around the dinner table.

Marco was not swayed by his silence. "_Who_?" he repeated. There was a tension about him that almost reminded Ace of the Marco-wraith-lookalike in his dreams. "You've been here more than a month. Yes, you are not fond of us, but you've never thought of us that way before, yoi." His eyes narrowed in thought. "You've been avoiding us since over a week ago."

Thatch's gaze turned dark with…sorrow? "Marco's right," he said quietly. "You're hardly on deck now, even if only to pick a fight with us." He moved closer to grab at the teen's shoulder in a gentle grip, as if fearing the younger pirate would shove him off. "You are safe with us, Ace. I'm sorry if anyone made you feel otherwise."

Ace resisted the assurance with all the strength he could muster. He was not a fool. He would not be bought in with such pathetic words. "Enough! You can either tell me the truth now or you can leave me alone."

Marco's lips thinned. "The truth is as I've told you. You could also consider telling us who it was that had told you such falsehoods." His features seemed to darken. "Or who had been fool enough to harm you."

Ace scoffed. He shrugged the arm off his shoulder. "Don't pretend to care," he snapped. "I don't buy it. I know you're just enjoying this inside."

With that, he shot them one last look of disgust before fleeing to his borrowed room.

* * *

"I think…we might have a problem," Thatch said as he watched the teenager dart into a corner, out of sight.

Marco threw him an unimpressed look. "You think?"

"Don't get mad at me. It's not my fault." The chef then snorted. "You should be mad at yourself."

"What?"

Thatch shook his head in mild amusement. "You were mad earlier. Think you scared the kid more than you did convincing him."

Marco made a sound in his throat was might have been a groan or a self-reproach. He lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a headache. "Perhaps, yoi," he admitted. "Do you think it's true?"

"That someone had threatened or hurt our little firecracker? It's either that or something else had triggered this sudden concern."

The blonde commander's eyes narrowed as he contemplated on the various possibilities. "He really believed that we would have…"

Thatch shrugged grimly. "Yes."

Marco cursed. "If I find whoever had started this, I will punish them so hard they won't know what hit them, yoi. For anyone to have the audacity to go against Oyaji's orders, to even hurt the kid when he's hardly a real threat…"

"Besides turning his rage at Oyaji every day and then destroying parts of the ship?" Thatch pointed out.

The first commander shot him a glare that could have melted steel. "Besides the fact that he has never once attacked one of us intentionally other than Oyaji, he's not a bad kid. He's honest to a fault, and he's even thoughtful, though he doesn't realise it, yoi." His features darkened. "For anyone to attack him out of spite when he's under our protection…"

"I know." A pause. "Sounds like you've started to care for him."

Marco sighed. "I'm a pirate, but I'm also a decent human being. You don't kick a kid just because they have temper tantrums." He ran a hand through his hair. "And the thought of our family being unnecessary jerks when we have orders piss me off, yoi."

Thatch nodded in agreement. "Me too."

* * *

**_[PRE-WARNING: NIGHTMARE II]_**

_Ace bucked under the weight that pinned him down to the cold, hard floor. His arms and legs were pressed painfully beneath the pirates that held him down. He could swear his blood flow were cutting off, which only made his flushed face more amusing to look at by his audience._

"_Let go!" he howled._

_Something hard slammed into his gut and he choked back a cry. He felt cold fingers paw at his jaw as his mouth was forced open. His eyes widened in fear._

"_You keep throwing away our food, Fire Fist," Thatch's disinterested voice floated over to him. The man held a bottle of something he could not identify above him. "You give us no choice now."_

_Ace's chest heaved as he struggled in vain to escape his bindings. Tears sprang to his eyes as something – whatever it was – mushy and odd was forced into his mouth. Fingers accompanied the odd contraption as what might have been a tube was jammed into his throat, widening in width until he could hardly breathe._

"_Uhn uhnnn," he moaned as he began to cry harder._

_It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, as a searing ache spread up his neck. He could not move, could not scream, could not do anything but take whatever was forced on him. _

"_There we go. You'll eat our food even if you don't want to now."_

_Ace blinked as something else filled his vision. The heady sense of panic thrummed in his veins, so overpowering he would have screamed had he been able to. The reality of his plight sent him plunging into greater horror as he recognised the device in the other's hands._

"_Now-"_

**_[END OF NIGHTMARE]_**

Ace woke up with a scream. His arms flailed wildly as his violent rise to consciousness once again sent him tumbling from his bed to the floor, which only served to remind him of his just escaped-from-night-terror. His panic-induced brain sent him scrambling further for the other end of the room, where he breathed heavily as his body raced to catch up with his waking mind.

"Oh," he groaned. He put his head in his hands when he realised what he had done. "Oh no oh no oh no."

He had gone crazy. This was it. This was his legacy. He dreamt of a 101 ways to die and then relived the more humanistic side in his conscious hours.

He could not survive this.

…

When Thatch later knocked on his door at the expected hour of arrival to announce breakfast, Ace was not in the least taken aback when he had screeched like a banshee and all but chased the man from his room.

The moment the chef had given him an odd look but acquiesced to hopefully disappear from his life for the rest of eternity, Ace had shot the remnants of the scattered food in mild disgust. A mental image of a tube flashed through his mind's eye and he distantly recalled a faint throb at back of his throat.

Without a word, he set the food on fire.

* * *

"You look exhausted," the commander named Izo commented.

The commander was dressed in a white kimono, with pastel pink carnations embroidered near its lower half. His hair was tied in a neat but intricate hairdo. A few strands fell across the sides of his face, but it appeared deliberate, as if to frame the already pleasant features.

It helped, Ace supposed, to calm somewhat his suspicions about the man. It was apparent after his outburst at Thatch that the man had caught the hint. The chef no longer appeared at his door with food and had instead sent this kimono-clad pirate in his stead.

Ace was not familiar with Izo. He had no reason to trust him more than he did any other member of the crew. But at least the man did not feature in his nightmares as one of his biggest tormentors. It was always a plus point when he did not immediately associate pain with the pirate he had to deal with.

Izo did not seem bothered to be ignored. "These drinks are supplements to help energise you when you are tired," he went on to explain as he pointed at the tray he had brought in with him. "If you're worried about the taste, the fourth division had taken care to infuse it with a certain citrus fruit flavour."

Ace let out a breath. "I really don't care," he muttered.

Izo arched a finely curved eyebrow. "Really? Is that why you threw out the food we've been bringing you?" He looked at the fire-user with a consideration that made him uneasy. "Do you not remember what had happened in the first month you were here? You collapsed out of sheer hunger and exhaustion."

"I don't see how that's relevant to you," Ace bit out. He tried to edge away to the other end of the bed, away from where the other man had somehow seen fit to sit. Perhaps to create the illusion that he meant no harm and was an _equal_, he thought with derision. "Wouldn't it be easier," he could not help but add, "for you if I did collapse? You wouldn't have to waste your time sending food to your prisoner."

Izo surprised him by seeming to consider his words. "That is true," he said. "But we hope to integrate you into our family. Your untimely collapse helps neither us nor you."

"Right. And I'm supposed to believe you want me to join your crew," Ace said flatly. "Because the rumoured strongest crew in the world has the habit of picking random pirates off the seas to join your crew every other day."

A smile of amusement stretched the commander's features. His dark eyes seemed to twinkle in mirth, as if the teen's words had somehow reminded him of an inside joke only he was privy to. "It is not in our habit, Ace. And we do not pick random pirates either," he said gently. "We chose you."

Ace could not help rolling his eyes at that. "Right, _me_, like I'm so special," he muttered under his breath.

"Aren't you?" Izo asked.

A dark red bloomed across the younger pirate's cheeks in embarrassment. He had not meant for the other to hear!

Unbothered by Ace's inner panic, the commander tilted his head to peer at the fire-user in curiosity. "We heard of you, you know. You proclaimed so loudly to the world your intention to challenge Whitebeard. We had Haruta's division to look into you." His lips twisted into another easy smile. "You stormed your way through the Grand Line, didn't you? You went straight through Paradise and then to the New World. You were on literal fire."

"So you monitored my movements. That doesn't tell me anything."

Izo hummed, his shoulders lifting and then dropping in an almost elegant arc. It was almost ridiculous, really, that everything the man did seemed to have an element of grace. "We heard of your recklessness and your brute strength," he continued. "Stories about your adventures across Paradise. My personal favourite was how you had stayed at the Island of Jihi for an entire month, just to run the shop of one child islander because her family had been caught away in a storm. You sent you entire crew to retrieve them. Her townspeople tried to chase her off, but you stayed to defend her. Not because she asked you to. But because you wanted to."

Ace stiffened at the familiar tale. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

Izo smiled kindly at him. "One of our brothers had come from that island. He told us his little sister was saved by a handsome, young man that she wishes to see again someday."

Ace flushed again. The commander's words hung in the air as both pirates fell into silence. Ace tried to process the other man's words, but it was difficult to parse through the point of his information. It did not help that his brain was more than ready to pass out for the day – never mind that it was only noon – from overstimulation. He was tired of thinking about the present, the future, and the unnecessary suffering that were his dreams.

Izo brushed off imaginary dust off his kimono as he stood. "If it helps," he offered, "what I meant to say was in answer to your words. I was attracted to the benevolence you had showed a stranger. It was a great kindness that is difficult to find in today's era. I want to protect that." He moved towards the door. "I imagine Oyaji had seen something in you too – whatever it may be – that he found worth fighting for."

Ace watched him leave with wide eyes.

Something…worth fighting for?

* * *

**_[PRE-WARNING: NIGHTMARE III]_**

"_Ironic, isn't it? Given that he's a fire logia."_

_Laughter met the remark. "That's why they chose this, you moron! It's funny _because _it's ironic!"_

_Ace felt a familiar wetness in his eyes. He sniffed when the Whitebeard pirates fastened the ends of the ropes together. He leaned away from them, wanting to be as far as he could from the stench of their utter cruelty, but he could do no more than lean against the wooden pillar he was tied to. He wanted to sob. He was going to be set on fire._

_The reassurance of his own flames had been extinguished with a simple sea stone necklace that fell just above his heart. It mocked him, with how easy it would have been to tear it right off and save him from his coming fate, had he just been _free_._

_An unidentified pirate came forward. He lifted a hand to stroke the fire-user's cheek in an almost comforting gesture._

"_You came to us like fire. It is only right you leave the same way."_

_Ace closed his eyes in silent preparation. His lips trembled._

_There was a _click_ and he knew no more._

_**_[END OF NIGHTMARE]_**_

* * *

It was the walls, Ace decided, that made him want to throw up.

Marco was right about that, at the very least. He had begun to isolate himself in the room. He ventured out only for assassination attempts, taking care to spend as much time inside than he did out. It was the only way he knew to avoid running into faces that had become overly familiar to him.

But that had the unfortunate effect of mild claustrophobia. The stuffy room had somehow morphed into a confined space that held him hostage, that reminded him of the terrors he had experienced under a blanket of darkness, that became an entrapment as much as it was a haven. This knowledge of his growing fears was the only motivation that had him walking about the ship, despite the unpleasant feelings of being watched and monitored.

Ace managed to enjoy the refreshing sea breeze for near an hour from his perch on one of the crow's nests about the ship. It almost lulled him into a state of relaxation. His muscles were less tensed- and holy seas of the world, _how tense had he been?_ There was a terrible ache around his shoulders that he had not noticed until he released the strain in his muscles.

The fire-user spent the hour just staring into the distant seas, not thinking much about anything. He focused on the wind that tugged at his hair, on the Sun that beat down on his person, on the hard-wooden ridges beneath his thumbs. The feeling of just being present sent a tiny little ache into his chest. It reminded him of being free.

It was just as well that his excursion was interrupted just then to halt his roaming thoughts.

"Fire Fist," the pirate greeted him.

Ace turned to see a man with dark blonde dreadlocks looking at him expectantly. There was a rather unimpressive moustache that paled in comparison with Whitebeard's. Although, the teen supposed, there were few that could possibly top the Yonko's carefully trimmed ones.

"Rakuyo…" he said slowly, as if testing the name.

The unassuming-looking man grinned in approval. "That's me," he said. "I'm surprised you know my name."

"You're a commander," Ace said pointedly.

"That I am."

Rakuyo rubbed the back of his hand with his neck, appearing to be at a loss of what to say when the teenager merely stared at him. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again a second later, the oddest of expression crossing his features.

Ace sighed. He was not willing to stand around to stare this man into the ground if he could help it. That, and how he felt a little sorry for the commander. He hated awkward conversations too. Though, Rakuyo deserved it, he decided. He was the one who had approached him!

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

Rakuyo beamed at him somewhat sheepishly. "Uh, I came to see how you're doing?"

Ace lifted an eyebrow in clear disbelief. "Are you telling me or asking me?"

"Uh…" The commander floundered for a bit. "How are you doing?" he tried.

Ace sighed again. It was hard to believe sometimes how these people were commanders of one of the strongest pirate crews in the world. This man was lucky his strength was probably in his combat skills, given how the current conversation was panning out. "I'm fine. Is that all, or will you tell me what you're actually here for?"

Rakuyo looked at him almost helplessly. He shifted his gaze towards the slowly setting Sun back to the fire-user, and he seemed to come to a decision as determination flitted through his countenance. "I am sorry for the trouble," he said, "but I have been told that…" He hung his head. "I must ask you to please take a bath!"

Ace blinked at him uncomprehendingly. When the words finally caught up to him, he surprised himself when he let out a laugh. It was true that he had stopped his stealthy excursions to rid himself of accumulated grime and dirt since he was tormented by nightmares, but he had thought little of its…effects. The crew must have noticed despite the open air and had probably not wanted to tell him themselves.

…which effectively left the commanders and Whitebeard.

Rakuyo must have drawn the short straw. To think the pirate commander would have found asking their 'guest' to bathe embarrassing was almost endearing.

Perhaps it was a gesture of goodwill, or maybe Ace did not want to let down the hopeful but wary look the man was sporting, but he acquiesced with a slight nod (and maybe even a small smile of amusement). A moment later and he internally shook himself. Nope, nope, nope. He was only agreeing because he was suddenly very aware of how dirty he was. It had nothing to do with the crew at all.

Rakuyo grinned at him, wasting little time to show him the way.

* * *

Ace was plenty surprised to find himself in one of the private bathrooms with a gigantic bathtub right down the middle. Rakuyo had all but shoved him inside after adding that he was free to use it any time he wished.

"_It's near your room too. It's just around the right corner to it. No one else uses it, so make sure you clean up after you're done, okay!"_

Ace was not even able to mutter a reluctant _thank you_ before the man had made himself scarce. Probably from sheer embarrassment, but still. The teen soon forgot about it as he stepped slowly into the bathroom. There were towels prepared at the towel rack, bottles of cleaning items, a mirror, and…candles? Why would he need candles? And _oh-_ the bath had already been drawn for him. He could smell the aromatic scent of lavender, rosemary and…peppermint? He scrunched his nose. What an odd combination.

A small smile stretched his lips when he noticed the bubbles. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

* * *

He must have taken longer than he had thought he would. When Ace left the bath, he was met with the darkness of the night sky instead of the still setting Sun. He chewed the insides of his cheeks. He had planned to try assassinating Whitebeard again that day, but he supposed he could give it a miss. Or wait till midnight.

He moved to return to his room when he came face to face with the first division commander.

"How was the bath, yoi?"

Ace stared at him. "You realise that was a weird question to ask, right?"

Marco lifted an eyebrow at his response. He had probably expected some acerbic response, but Ace was too relaxed and tired for that tonight. He only had a few hours before he had to return to…well, his lovely dreams.

In an attempt to distract himself, he asked, "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in almost a week."

Marco this time did not seem thrown and shrugged. "Around. Being commander on this ship does give me too many responsibilities."

Ace snorted as he breezed past the man for his room. He was not surprised when the latter followed him. "So much for being my guide or something," he muttered.

"Did you require anything? You could have approached anyone else too, yoi."

The teen rolled his eyes. "I didn't," he said snappishly. "Why were you waiting for me?"

Marco looked thoughtful but accepted the subject change. "I thought to warn you," he began. He nodded to the room they were fast approaching. "We tend to…overhaul our ship's design every once in a while, yoi."

Ace stiffened. "What do you mean?" he asked, though it should not matter. This was not his home and that was not his room. He even wanted a little escape from it today, for sea's sake! _Why_ did the thought of it being changed send a heavy weight into his chest?

"We didn't change much," Marco was saying, as if privy to his inner thoughts. "We changed the bedsheets, of course, and added some other items to perhaps make it little more comfortable for you."

Ace narrowed his eyes. "I don't need anything from you."

It was a pathetic lie, of course. He took their food, their shelter, and now their bathrooms. He had already fallen so far, after all. There was no need to shove that in their faces too.

"You don't," Marco answered bluntly, surprising him. "But we swore to protect you for so long as you are under our wing, yoi. We take that seriously."

"I don't need protecting!" Ace protested hotly.

"Protection doesn't just mean your safety. It includes your needs, your concerns, your comfort even." Somehow, Marco's eyes met his under the dim glare of the moon. "You said we were out to hurt you, yoi," he said, voice serious. "But we are not. If you wish to attack Oyaji anyway, we will respect that. But as long as you are on this ship and under our care, we will allow no harm to come to you. No matter who it's from."

Ace's lips parted in shock at the words. Despite the nagging voice in his head, somehow, he knew the words were genuine. Sure, his beliefs were stupid and ridiculous, but Marco honestly believed in it.

"I won't back down. You know that, right?"

The corners of Marco's lips twitched. "I know, yoi. That is your choice. We choose to give you time to reconsider."

Ace bit the bottom of his lip. "And if I still say no, despite everything?" _What will you do then?_

Marco gave into his smile and pushed something into the younger pirate's hand. "Then we will respect that and let you go."

The teen ignored the burgeoning confusion that came with the commander's words and instead focused on the item in his hand. "A…drink?"

The blonde nodded. "It helps you sleep," he said simply. His blue eyes darted from Ace to the room to Ace again. He dipped his chin again. "Have a good rest, Ace."

Ace watched him leave, somehow feeling disappointed at his departure, though he was unsure why. Maybe he just did not want to return to the room yet. Or perhaps he missed some social interaction.

He let out a resigned sigh and entered the borrowed room. He might as well retire for the night. If he were any other person, he would have attempted to stay up, but that only worsened his sleep attacks.

When he lit the candles, Ace froze. This was… The room was markedly different from how it was only this afternoon, he realised. The bedsheets had changed from a dull green to rich, blue tones. The windows were half-covered with blinds, open enough to let in enough filtered light to cast much of the shadows away. The floor was carpeted a deep orange now, and there were more thick, fat pillows and two blankets folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He trotted forward to brush at them. Tears sprang to his eyes when he realised how soft they were. One of them was thick while another was thin enough to accommodate the warmer nights.

There were other changes, he noticed absently as he walked about the carpet. It was so gentle on his feet. Perhaps if he fell off the bed again in terror his back would not hurt so much.

Ace lowered himself to the floor. There were a mix of emotions whirling inside him, more than he thought possible after the utter nightmare the past few weeks have been. A stray tear streaked down his cheek. Why were they so kind to him? None of this made sense!

But as he pulled the drink Marco had given to him closer to himself, his legs curled up to his chin, he told himself it did not matter for now. For now- for now, he would sleep. Clearing the mess that was his head would not happen tonight.

He tore the cap off and downed it in one go.

* * *

[A few days later]

Thatch was not surprised to see Marco leaning against the wall outside Ace's room. It had been a common sight the past weeks.

"Well?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Marco eyed him lazily. A small smile stretched at his lips. "He didn't scream."

Thatch grinned as he pumped his fist in the air in victory. "Three days in a row!" he cheered, though careful to keep his voice low.

The commanders exchanged a look, before Marco nodded and turned to leave. "Don't forget to give him the milk before he sleeps tonight. I won't be able to drop by, yoi."

Thatch snorted. "Sure."

With that, he knocked on the door and then showed himself in to announce breakfast.

* * *

**That is it for now! Do review and let me know what you think, or if you even have suggestions that may fit into this storyline. :)**

**In reference to the above, Marco and the commanders had investigated the cause of Ace's change in behaviour. They were quick to understand that Ace suffered from nightmares, though they were unable to pinpoint what had triggered it. They did come up with a plan to help, which were traditional remedies; that is, reassure him that his night terrors were not real, to calm him down, establish a routine before he went to sleep, ensure he was relaxed when he did go to sleep etc.**

**As for Ace, his nightmares were largely a result of his own fears and insecurities that had built up the longer he was cooped on the Moby Dick. He is unable to see why they are holding him, and his own fears about how he would be dealt with when his lineage were revealed just played a part to further terrorise his dreams. It was an unfortunate mix that boded ill for him, really.**

**Hope that clarifies!**


	3. The matter of discomfort

**Hi everyone!**

**I hope all of you are doing well. **

**Please read these WARNINGS before you proceed with this chapter. It has a certain segment near the end of near sexual assault. I will put up warnings below to warn you, so please be mindful of potential triggers, alright?**

**Beyond that, I am frankly very unsure of this chapter. But I have sat on it for so long and I've recently found myself in a little bit of a writer's block. I know what I want to write, but the words won't come. :( This was the best I could do. So, enjoy?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

Ace had realised long ago, even at the tender age of eleven, that he wasn't comfortable being around people.

He suspected it was an effect of his growing years. Dadan and the bandits tried in their wayward ways to raise him, but his childhood pre-Luffy was, for lack of a better word, lonely. He had no one to talk to or play with. He knew nothing but the constant challenge to survive. By the time Sabo and Luffy fully settled in their roles as his younger brothers, it was already too late by then. His predisposition to being alone (and forever being socially awkward) had already taken root within him. Try as he might, he would never truly know how to live amongst people. (_He wasn't people, after all_, his head would whisper. _He was a monster._)

At least, it had seemed that way over the years. The fire-user had even given himself a pep talk about it when he set sail. He couldn't deny the instinctual want for human companionship, but he could prepare himself for the inevitable fallout- when he saw for himself how spectacularly he would fail at making friends.

But somehow Deuce made it through. He was the first mate that Ace thought he wouldn't be friends with.

The others soon followed, each spouting some nonsense over how the teen had irrevocably changed their lives and they would follow in his footsteps for as long as he would have them.

It was unbearably embarrassing, and Ace had spent a fair amount of time yelling at them to _shut it or screw off!_ No matter that their bordering on hysterical actions induced a strange warmth inside him. Much like when Luffy would hold onto him for no other reason than he could.

But, beneath all his bravado, the teen came to realise how deeply his aversion to other people went. He couldn't shake off the feeling of discomfort even when he sat amongst his crew, always too keenly aware of where they were and who they were to him. They liked him _now_, but would they still when they saw how wrathful his rage could be? When they realised how he fumbled with the easiest of conversations? That his level of social awareness was limited to the socially constructed realities in a forest on an island in East Blue. A hard lesson he had come to understand the further away he was from home.

It struck him that he didn't know how to act around people. People were strange. They acted in ways he didn't always understand. He still wondered at why his crew had decided to stand by him. Whatever that miraculous reason could be.

It was unsurprising, really, that people put him off.

And, yet, Ace was now a stranger onboard an enemy ship that housed hundreds of rival pirates. An entire crew of people he didn't know. Suffice to say, he didn't feel good.

There was no room for peace here, despite the sheer size of the ship, except the room they had so generously loaned him. There were people wherever he went. He could look up and immediately zero in on the pirates on lookout. He need only cast a cursory glance about him to see other members of the crew milling about their day, as oblivious (or uncaring) to his attention as they were to his growing discomfort. Going into the bowels of the ship was out of the question. He was neither adventurous enough nor stupid enough to voluntarily walk into a confined space with _other people_.

But, the thing about being on board the ship of the strongest man in the world, was that it meant being on the ship with the strongest _crew_ in the world.

Ace didn't even realise what that meant until he walked out from his room to see a deck full of partying pirates and, for once, really _looked_ at them. Watched in quietness as tankards were raised in the air, drips of mead slopping over to wet the floor as various pirates cheered to themselves. Held himself in silence as the night air was permeated by shouts and raucous laughter, a collective booming noise that sent the fire-user stumbling back a few steps at the sheer level of it.

His eyes tracked the crew as they moved, glancing at rippling muscles and corded arms bared open for the world to see. Jagged, lasting scars ran deep into the skin of more than one pirate, a quiet promise of strength that hinted at multiple triumphs over past battles. He shouldn't even have to mention the commanders. A look to the stern side of the ship and he caught sight of the massive bulk of Diamond Jozu. His arm alone could cut off his air in an instant- make him choke, then squash the life out of him as effectively as one could stamp on an ant. Ace swallowed at the mental image, his fingers reaching up to brush at the vulnerable curve of his neck. And people like the first division commander? The teen knew the first mate could perhaps rival Whitebeard in strength. There was a sharp intelligence swirling in his eyes, tempered only by the occasional warmth and dancing amusement that flickered through those same cerulean orbs. But put his guard down, and the man could probably tear his heart out in an instant,

The instinctive increase in his heartbeat was normal, he told himself, as was his immediate response to breathe evenly to calm his body's natural response to perceived danger. Ace wasn't one who would normally be cowed by such displays. Many had underestimated him and had paid the price. But, there was something admittedly intimidating – almost outright frightening – to see what could have been an army of powerhouses just a few steps away from his hidden perch.

And, as recent weeks have hammered into his skull, Ace was but a 17-year-old with somewhat lean muscles. The only blessing that tided him over as captain was the lack of excess fat across his body. He wasn't short (was he? He was taller than a lot of the bandits back home), but even Whitebeard's smallest commander towered over his slight frame.

It didn't help that he was becoming keenly aware that he was outsider on a rival crew's ship. Heck, his continued safety was subject to the whims of a greying old man.

He imagined how easy it would be for the crew to jump him. Rough hands would paw at his skin, leaving bruises in its wake, as he struggled against an endless army.

Pictured his body failing to resist as they brought him to the floor. Felt the rough brand of a handcuff tying his arms together as the comforting warmth of his fire was torn away.

Heard in his mind his voice screaming in despair as metal rungs sunk into the ground before him, caging him from the freedom he so desperately craved.

There would be nothing he could do.

Really, they couldn't blame him for drawing away when he could. His natural discomfort at being around people just shot through the roof when said people were the Whitebeard pirates.

But this time, as he watched the crew of rowdy pirates, that same discomfort morphed into fear.

* * *

"I admire your persistence, yoi, but you have to give it up sometime."

Ace commended himself for not swivelling round to give his number one Whitebeard stalker a good talking to. As promised, the man had taken it upon himself to 'look after' him. He was there every hour of the day, never straying too far even if he chose not to approach. Heck, the teen could swear he could discern the blonde's gaze boring into his back from another's with how often the man kept him within sight. And, the most aggravating yet, was how the stupid bird somehow – _somehow! _– guised his attention with an air of detached interest, rather than with smothering scrutiny.

He quickened his pace in a feeble attempt to escape the man. "If anything, you're the persistent one," he muttered under his breath.

The voice behind him sounded amused. "What was that?"

"Not wasting my breath on you, Phoenix."

Before the older man could answer, the skies above them darkened with a breath-taking speed that only the inclement weathers of the New World were capable of. The rush of howling wind swept through the deck, surprising even the veteran pirates, as some rushed about to secure the items on deck. Ace could feel the ship bop heavily under his feet. To his surprise, strong fingers circled around his left wrist and he was tugged along as the commander quickly pulled him to stand under the small shelter accorded by one of the masts.

"What? Why here? We'd be-" The words in his mouth died as a sudden downpour rained down upon them. Already he could feel his back getting wet despite the roof over his head. Marco dragged him closer to stand next to him, their backs against the pillar of the foremast.

"It's not the best place to be in this weather," Marco commented. The man was eyeing the grey clouds contemplatively. "This roof is only good for as long as the wind doesn't blow in our direction. And if there's lightning, we need to leave as fast as our feet can carry us, yoi."

Ace shot him a look of undisguised incredulity. "Why are we hiding here? It's just rain."

The blonde returned his stare with a raised eyebrow, as if questioning his intellect. Ace bristled at the look. "Did you want to get wet?"

"What? No!"

To his annoyance, the man-turning-bird looked at him pointedly before dragging his gaze to the shelter, then to the rain. Ace saw the mockery for what it was and muttered under his breath. He should walk right out back to his room, rain be damned. Getting soaked to the skin was a hazard of piracy life anyway. Or maybe such a life was beneath the commanders here, given how his eyes caught the many lower-ranking Whitebeards running about without care for the storm that rained upon their shoulders.

Marco must have somehow caught on to his thoughts (or he was just that good at reading people). "We like to be careful," he explained as if the world was in dire need of his wisdom. "Though the rain here typically lasts a while, it is not as dangerous as a storm. But, as you must know, New World weather is as mercurial as one's temper." At this, the corners of his lips twitched. "I would help them, yoi, but Namur is on duty today. It is not my place to interfere unless necessary."

True to his words, Ace saw the eighth division commander jog over to what must be his subordinates near the figurehead. The fishman exchanged words with them, then started to show them a series of knots that escaped the teen's attention.

Again, before he could ask, Marco was already speaking: "They joined us a few months ago. They aren't quite familiar with sailing yet, since they were landbound before they met us."

Oh? That only gave Ace more questions. "So, you just accept anyone into the crew?" he asked, sounding suitably unimpressed. "That's hardly wise, is it. A crew is only as strong as its weakest link."

Marco barked out a laugh. His gaze remained fixed on the pirates in question, though the amusement in his voice rang loud and clear. "It is strange, hearing that from you, yoi."

Maybe Ace had become used to the man talking his head off over the weeks. Contrary to his passive disposition, he had discovered that Marco the Phoenix was a skilled conversationalist. He was able to conjure topics of interest out of thin air and was hardly stymied by Ace's silence. So, when the blonde showed no indication of continuing, the younger pirate jerked his head to stare at the Whitebeard in confusion. Why did he stop? Did something happen that caught his attention? Try as he might, he couldn't source out anything that might have been worthy of concern.

That was, until a thought occurred to him. The teen narrowed his eyes as he studied the man next to him. He exuded an air of calmness (didn't he always?), with his hands tucked into the pockets of his garish (it was ugly, he told himself. Ace did not like bright colours, nope, nope nope) purple jacket. His eyes, dark under the gloomy weather, darted about the ship with practised ease, looking for signs of trouble even when there were none. But, most importantly, Ace's attention zeroed in on the faint tracings of a smile across his otherwise stoic features.

Ace scowled when he realised the other's play. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," he grumbled. No way he was going to give in and _ask_ for it. No matter how his inner curiosity piqued at that one sentence.

Marco merely breathed in a deep breath. "Alright then."

"I'm not asking you anything."

"If that is your wish."

"I won't."

"I understand, yoi."

Ace imagined throttling the man till he wept for mercy. "I hope you fall asleep in your food and all the sauce ends up in your stupid blonde hair."

That brought the commander up short. The man finally turned away from his hardworking siblings to blink at him in confusion. "What?"

"You heard what I said," Ace snapped. "In fact, I hope the colour never washes off!" He flicked his eyes to said hair in contempt. "Such a pity, with how light your hair is."

Marco by now had fully shifted to face him. He cocked his head, his brows furrowing for the longest moment, as if studying a particularly complex puzzle. Then, his expression cleared. Ace became suspicious in an instant. "How about," the man suggested, "you explain what you just said, and I'll share with you what you want to know?"

"Like you don't understand what I said."

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't know everything nor do I understand everything." A pause. "How about it, Fire Fist? Brave enough to dance with a Phoenix?"

Ace restrained himself from his rolling eyes. "Pretty sure the saying is, 'dance with the Devil'."

Marco shrugged. "I'm not the Devil now, am I?"

"I'd imagine not. You're way too clingy to be the Devil."

The blonde looked triumphant. "Even you agree with me."

"That wasn't a compliment!"

"I'll take what I get."

"Are you that deprived of praise, or are you just that desperate for approval?"

Marco showed no indication that the words, thick with condescension as they were, bothered him. "I wouldn't say I am desperate, yoi," he said instead. "But if I do seek your approval, I imagine I would be pleased to receive more praise from you."

"Che. Pretentious jerk."

"Oh, name-calling. Whatever have I done to deserve that?" The blonde even went as far as to press his palm over his heart in faux hurt.

Ace's jaw tightened. A part of him wanted to smile, helplessly amused, but he recognised this tactic. Marco was trying to lull him into friendly conversation, falling into a banter of sorts that was frighteningly reminiscent of his interactions with his own brothers. He wouldn't fall for it. He wasn't a pathetic child that craved attention like that. With an effort that should concern him, the teen looked away. "I accept your stupid deal," he said in an attempt to change the subject.

If the Phoenix was surprised by the sudden hostility, he didn't show it. He continued to regard the teen with curiosity. Then, as if remembering the subject of conversation, the corners of his lips stretched so inconsiderably that Ace wasn't even sure if it was a smile. "I'll go first then," Marco graciously volunteered, as if the younger pirate would have if he hadn't. There was a brief pause. "You say a crew is only as strong as its weakest link. I assume you believe it unwise. And, yet…" Shadowed blue eyes darted to meet stormy grey. "And yet you are the strongest of your crew, yoi."

Ace frowned, not understanding why that part was stressed. "So? I'm their captain."

"Yes," Marco agreed. "Do you realise your crew's strength is far beneath yours? You could defeat all of them soundly on your own. With such a gap in terms of battle prowess, would you still say a pirate crew mustn't have members who are not as strong as the other? Would you deny them a position in your life merely because they would be, as you say, 'the weakest link'?"

The freckled pirate thought for a moment. That…hadn't occurred to him. "That's different. They may not be as strong, but it doesn't mean they have nothing to offer. You can't define someone's worth by their strength alone. Besides, that's unfair. Not everyone has the opportunity to learn- oh."

Marco nodded in approval. "I agree, yoi," he said, as if he hadn't just made the teen voice the same thoughts running through his head. "Becoming a part of one's family shouldn't come with conditions. Strength, your fighting capacity, intelligence. All of these are important to survive and can easily be trained. But, loyalty– that sense of connection between people? They are hard to come by."

Ace blinked rapidly, suddenly hyperaware of what the stupid turkey was trying to say. A flush he hoped to the seas was hidden by the grey skies spread across his cheeks. Naturally, he raised his arm and pretended to wipe his face with it. He then took advantage of his unparalleled skills in the art of subject diversion. He blurted out, "Food!"

"What?"

The teen ploughed ahead despite the clear confusion. "I said I hope you fall asleep when you're eating. When you do, you'll drop your stupid, oversized head onto your plate. I hope you'll end up with sauce and soup and everything else sticky in your hair because you're mean, and I don't like you."

Marco stared at him in askance. "Is that," he said slowly, "your version of telling me to drop dead?"

Ace wanted to stand his ground, but his fortitude crumbled into dust when the other pirate looked at him, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It made him recall all the times he had been helped by this same man. (_Don't forget you were kidnapped! He's just doing as he's told!_) A hint of guilt curled inside him. "W-well, maybe not sauce," he mumbled as he looked away pointedly. "Your stupid hair wouldn't survive that. You look annoying enough. Don't need to look stupid too."

Marco's response was a breathless laugh. "I appreciate the thought, yoi." He looked to be about to say more, when the soft patters of footsteps interrupted them.

Both pirates looked up to see the third division commander, Jozu, running up to them.

"There you both are," Jozu said, voice gruff. Ace felt himself tense when the massive pirate's shadow loomed over him. "We worried when we couldn't find you inside."

Marco shrugged. "It was raining," he said simply.

Jozu glanced between him and Ace, and he nodded without another word. Though, somehow, the freckled pirate had the faintest suspicion that there was more to it than that.

"Navigation says this rain will turn into a thunderstorm soon. You both should head inside before it hits." He opened an umbrella such that it could fit all three of them easily and gestured for them to come forward.

Except, Ace couldn't move his feet. Beyond the utter ridicule of a pirate refusing to get soaked through, he found himself rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the third commander. Going under that umbrella necessitated standing close enough that they could touch. And that thought itself easily brought up the image of a thick arm sliding across his neck– pressing in, choking, crushing the fine bones until it cracked and splintered. He sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling terribly exposed and yet confined to his place all at once.

"No," he said out loud. "I'm not part of your crew. Stop treating me like I am." He wanted to step away, but the space was too small and Jozu was standing right _there_.

Marco's lips thinned. "We don't have to be in the same crew to be kind to others, Ace."

Ace didn't bother looking at the blonde. Though he should really question himself why, he distractedly thought. Marco was no less dangerous just because he was smaller in stature and size.

"That's not my problem," he retorted. "I'm not scared of a little bit of rain."

"The showers would be full if you try to bathe right after this," the Phoenix reasoned. "You wouldn't want to be soaked through while waiting, would you?"

Ace broke his gaze to glower at him. Trust this jerk to know he'd sooner jump off the ship than share with the crew. "Yes," he said flatly. "I love sleeping all wet. It's like drowning in your sleep."

Marco quirked an eyebrow at the answer. "You realise you just supported my point, yoi."

The freckled pirate took his words back. The first commander deserved not only sauce in his hair, but also the ones that were greasy and stuck to strands like magnet to iron. "I'm done," he snapped. He moved to get away from them, rain be damned. He thought of inching around Jozu when Marco's hand snatched at his wrist tightly.

The blonde – the interfering man that he was – derailed his building panicky thoughts with an ease that should have been alarming had the teen not been fixated on Jozu's threatening form. "I'll return with him soon, yoi," he said. "Help Namur out, won't you, if the thunderstorm proves too trying."

Jozu nodded and handed over the umbrella. With one last look at the teen, he turned and jogged away, uncaring of the rainwater that pounded on him from the heavens.

Marco then turned his attention solely on the teen. "Ace–"

"Let go of me!"

The commander ignored him and opted to drag the teen closer. He leaned forward to peer searchingly into his eyes, as if he'd find the answer he was looking for. Ace tried to pull away but the grip on his hand was like iron.

"_Let go!_" he hissed. His flames were danced across his arm to lick at the intrusive limb. To his not-surprise and dismay, blue fire rose up to meet his in answer.

"Calm, yoi," the blonde answered, as if that were all he needed to calm the heck down. _Why_ didn't he think of that? "I'll let you go when you're calm."

Ace raised his other fist to push hard at the other man. "And you say you aren't keeping me here against my will," he sneered. "You'd keep me in place just for rejecting your stupid umbrella!"

Marco's countenance went blank. "I'm not letting you go until you're calm," he repeated.

What transpired next was a round of Ace struggling against the commander's hold with a frustration that surprised him. He pushed, he pulled, he gasped, and he even considered biting the hand that held him tight. It was only when exhaustion dragged at him that he slumped against the wooden pillar next to them. It was bad enough that he had been tossed around by Whitebeard in the day. With what little sleep he managed to catch, he felt what little energy remained seep through his feet into nothingness.

"Are you calm now, yoi?" Marco's smooth voice prodded at him.

He glared at the man through his mess of raven strands. "Left me no choice, didn't you?" he snapped.

Marco studied him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he let go. Ace immediately snatched up his hands to hold it tight against his chest, trying to slow his breathing.

"I'd tell you not to be afraid, but that wouldn't help you," the first division commander murmured. Then, in a louder voice: "I'm sorry I held you back, but I know you would have gone to bed soaked through with rain if no one stopped you. I didn't want you to fall sick."

A distant memory came unbidden to the forefront of the teen's mind.

"_Shut up, you idiot. You _are_ capable, okay? But you won't take care of yourself, so I damn well will!"_

Ace forced the image away and scoffed. "I'll fall sick if I want to. It's none of your business!"

"_So, are you going to sit still, or do I have to tie you up?"_

"I've told you before. For as long as you are here, you are under our protection. Even if that means protecting you from yourself, yoi." The Phoenix turned to once more look at his siblings working across the Moby Dick's deck. "It appears they may need help after all." He rested the umbrella to lean against the mast, letting it drop right next to Ace. "You should head inside to rest. We will handle this storm."

Without another glance at him, Marco walked away.

"Oh, and if you leave without using that umbrella, I'll carry you to the showers myself."

A dark red immediately flushed the younger pirate's cheeks at the conjured image. Hell no!

* * *

Ace made a point to ignore the blonde commander as much as he could. It was petty, even for him, but he summoned all his strength to press his lips shut whenever the man tried to talk to him. He tamped down the instinctive desire to respond mercilessly too, because he was no fool who would fall for the other's pretty words and stupid, philosophical reasonings. He even refused the nightly milk beverage the man had religiously been offering him since a few weeks back. Though doing so pained him in a way he didn't understand (and did not want to explore deeper), he stuck through, riding on the flames of his ire to deny himself as much as he could.

Not that it deterred the Phoenix much. He would leave left the beverage at his doorstep instead. Ace would forever deny that he had held the bottled milk close to his chest after picking it off the floor the first time it happened. Held it tight as he stood under the night's glare, quiet and contemplative.

Marco's efforts didn't end there. In his place was Thatch or, sometimes, Izo. They would pester him in the first commander's stead, their gazes just as watchful, if not as sharp. Ace found that he didn't like it.

"If you're worried I'd go and off someone, you realise the solution would be to throw me in a cell, and not stalk me to your heart's content, right?" he asked through gritted teeth. Just as he had a week before (but with Marco), he was attempting to escape the two commanders who had been trailing him for the past half hour.

"Why would we do that?" Thatch cheerily answered. "We don't want you in a cell."

Izo went along with it. "The cells are dirty, for one thing. It would be a shame to put your pretty self in there."

Ace's features reddened at the remark. Why weren't they going away? He'd been told he was just a grumpy, reckless and aggressive kid that nobody liked to be around. What was he doing this time that wasn't enough to throw them off?

"Shove off," he muttered. (_Smart move, Portgas. That would make them magically disappear._)

"Come on, Fire Fist, you have to-"

Thatch's words died in his throat when Ace swivelled round to shoot him his most potent glare. He lifted his arms in a gesture that clearly invited a challenge. "Out with it. What do you want from me?"

The brunette raised his own hands in surrender. "We've talked about this, Fire First. We're not out to kill you."

"Then what is it?" Ace asked harshly. "You must want something from me. Why else would you keep me here and try to bribe me with your kind words and other weird stuff that you do for me?"

"You know what we hope for," Izo said. "We hope for you to join the family."

The fire-user sneered. "You're still going on about that? You gain nothing from having me join your crew. You've shown that you're stronger than me. Your crew is infamous the world over. There's nothing I can offer to people like you."

Thatch shook his head, seeming unsurprised at the accusation, probably used to repeating this same song and dance they had been doing the entire time Ace was on this ship. "You know the answer to that, Ace," he said, choosing to call him by name this time, as if that would endear the man to him. "We've told you time and again. It's up to you to believe it."

This would often be followed by expressed disbelief. Thatch would argue the same argument, and then the fire-user would stalk off in a huff after sending a ball of flames their way. But this time, the teen thought viciously, he had something else to say too. "Really?" he said, taking care to make his voice low and dangerous. "I've heard what your people have said about me. About what they want to do to me. It's probably the same for you."

He watched with wretched satisfaction as both commanders stiffened. Thatch's features shifted, shedding his earlier expression of cheer to adopt an air of such seriousness even the fire-user was slightly taken aback.

"Tell me what you mean." The demand underscoring his words was obvious.

Ace tilted his head. His eyes narrowed enough that the two men looked at him warily. "What? You won't admit it here?" he asked in mock surprise. "That your people somehow want to rip my clothes off, throw me in a room, _lock_ me in there, and then…" Despite himself, he couldn't stop his face from scrunching his nose in confusion. He eyed the two pirates in an unexpected swell of apprehension as he remembered how perturbed he had been to hear the…plans. (_Great. Scare yourself while you're at it, you fool!_)He lifted his chin. "Then…do what they want with me. They wouldn't even specify what it was they wanted to do. I don't know what kind of crazy they're talking about, but it sounds awful, _even_ if it means you wouldn't end up killing me!"

To his eternal surprise (because, really, what doesn't surprise him these days?), both commanders looked at him with various shades of alarm. They exchanged a quick look, as if communicating with one another in silence, before turning back to him. For once, they appeared uncertain. There was even a hint of red dusting the chef's cheekbones.

"Ace," Izo began, his voice ever so gentle. He tucked a loose hair behind his ear, though Ace got the faintest impression that the man was somehow uneasy. "Do you…do you understand what they meant?"

Ace's earlier anxiety quickly dissolved into irritation. Hadn't he already said! "Does it matter?" he snapped. "No matter what they meant, I don't think wanting me exposed and locked up in a room with them could mean anything good for me!"

Izo continued pressing. "When did you hear this?"

"A few nights ago, but I don't–"

"Were they drunk?" Thatch interrupted.

Ace exhaled noisily. "_Yes_, like your people seem to be every night."

There was a look of quiet understanding plastered on the chef's countenance, even as he grimaced. "I…" His lips thinned. "I'm sorry, Ace. Their lack of sobriety doesn't excuse them. I'll have them punished for this. I _promise _you."

What a lie. Ace tightened his fists. "That they said it at all when they were drunk meant they've been thinking about it," he retorted. "What use is there in punishing them? I should thank them instead, for revealing the truth that you've been hiding from me."

"Ace, they… You don't understand."

"Then explain to me! You always say I won't give you a chance. Here's your chance!"

The fire-user wasn't sure whether to feel validated in his anger or feel strangely betrayed when the two Whitebeards looked utterly discomfited by his demand. A rush of frustration raged through him. He knew it! All their acts of kindness were just that- acts! At the end of it, they couldn't even find a good lie to cover up their trail. He clenched his fists.

"It seems I've heard enough," he forced out as he backed away from them. "Stay away from me, you creeps."

Nothing but silence followed him.

* * *

Thatch turned wide eyes to his brother. "Wha… Did you–? Did he just–? Seas above, what did we just–? _What_?"

Izo kept his eye on the fire-user's retreating back, frowning. "I believe we've overestimated how…young he really is," he commented tiredly. "This might be a problem."

The chef shook his head in disbelief. The startling revelation that Ace – the fire-breathing kid – was that blissfully ignorant was…well, startling. How did he end up in the New World that untouched? Had he grown up alone? Even a lone child would have heard such tales as they ran about a village.

Izo tried to fill in the blanks. "Or it would appear," he mused, "that his crew has been protecting him more than we had thought."

Thatch met his brother's eyes. "Damn. Oyaji really knows how to choose them, huh."

"Are you surprised?"

"…no. What do we do?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You're suggesting we leave it to Marco, aren't you?"

"Unless you have a better idea, I'm all ears. I won't be the one managing this."

…

"Let's find that birdbrain."

* * *

It was the rush of freefall that made him forget.

He was hurtling through the air, the wind slapping at his exposed skin, as he flailed helplessly for something to hold on to. Whitebeard had only just knocked him off with a solid punch, and the fire-user was suddenly making a steady decline for the waters. It was this frustrated indignance at another of his (expected) failures and his own rising panic at his airborne body that he forgot the very real need to breathe in before he went under.

Then, like a light bulb going off in his head, the teen's eyes widened, his lips parting just as he crashed through the water. For one long moment, his body seemed to hover, untethered, just beneath the surface. If he only reached out, he was sure he'd break the surface, but the moment passed, and he began to sink like the deadweight he was.

Yes. This was how he was going to die. Drown because he was too stupid to take in air while he could. Why had he worried about being the Pirate King's son? This end was so lame he couldn't even believe himself.

He could already feel the burn in his lungs as his body demanded more oxygen. The glide of ocean water, so cold in the absence of his fire, swept through him. It would be almost peaceful if he weren't keenly aware of his coming death.

Ace tried to will himself to hold on a little longer. To bear through the ache in his chest and deny the instinct to breathe in. The Whitebeards never failed to save him from being claimed by the sea. The pirates were odd and contradictory, but they had proven themselves consistent in this aspect. (_When did he start expecting them to save him?_) But this was different, he realised with dread. They needed time and yet his heart was insistent in seizing painfully for air.

Just as his whole body jerked, Ace spotted in the distance the looming form of one commander fishman heading straight for him. The fishman – Namur? – was watching him, his coal black eyes gleaming under the dim glare of the waters. The whites of his teeth glinted. He was shrouded in flickering shadows that, with Ace's own vision growing dark, effected an overall display that looked menacing.

The fire-user's useless heart accelerated in response. There was a ringing in his ears as he braced himself…as the other pirate rushed at him like a shark moving in for the kill. He distantly wondered if his blood would taint the seas, spilling a gush of red across the calmness of deep blue. As panic thrummed in his veins, compounded by the last gasps of his lungs, Ace choked as water rushed into his throat.

He seized. Then, he knew no more.

* * *

Marco straightened sharply, frowning, when Namur clambered back onto the deck with a limp Portgas D. Ace over his shoulders. Such retrievals no long drew the crew's attention, but his siblings must have sensed somehow that something was different as they paused in their work to watch.

The blonde was already running forward, his arms turning to flames briefly to speed him along, as Namur dumped the kid onto the deck. Ace's body slumped against the ground, eerily still.

"What happened, yoi?" he asked as he fell to his knees beside the teen. Ace's usual tanned skin was deathly pale. His lips were turning a concerning blue. He pressed two fingers against the damp skin of the kid's neck. "He wasn't under for long."

Namur hovered the kid helplessly. "I don't know. He was already breathing in water by the time I caught sight of him."

"He's not breathing. I can barely feel his pulse," the blonde muttered. He looked towards the gathering crowd. "Get Bay to prep the infirmary now!"

"Already did!"

Relief and gratitude for his quick-thinking siblings bubbled through the commander. Without further thought, he interlocked his hands on the centre of the kid's chest, shifted to lean his weight on his knees, and started on the chest compressions. He nodded at the fishman in acknowledgement of his previous words. "Already? Did he forget to breathe in?"

His brother just looked puzzled. "I don't know," he said again. "I know he saw me, but by the time I reached him, he was choking." He broke off, an expression of reluctance marring his features before it cleared. He coughed into his fist at the Phoenix's glancing look. "I saw it in his eyes," he said, voice low. "When he caught sight of me, he was afraid. He looked like a boy caught in a trap, and I was the monster come to devour him." He shrugged. "Maybe I frightened him into losing what air he did have."

There was a faint sense of sympathy that tugged at Marco's heart at the clear sorrow in Namur's voice. Despite the wide acceptance of fishmen within their family, some scars lingered in the gaps and cracks of life. But this was not the time to console him. Marco sucked in a breath, leaned down to press his lips against Ace's unmoving ones, and exhaled deeply. He watched with rapt attention as the younger pirate's chest expanded with the rescue breath. He then pulled back and forced another breath down the teen's throat.

He could feel his family watching him, could sense his father's unyielding strength not far behind him, and it was all he could do to keep on pressing hard against the fire-user's limp form. It wouldn't do to fail now. Besides, he remembered a certain uncomfortable conversation he had had with two of his brothers. Kid couldn't go and die on them when he hadn't addressed that elephant in the room yet.

"Come on, come on, yoi," he muttered as he did another round of chest compression.

He was about to dive in for another rescue breath, when suddenly the body beneath his jerked. Ace started coughing wetly. The hoarse gasps were a welcome change, despite the clear underlying pain. Marco pushed the teen to lie on his side, with one palm resting beneath a cold cheek. The kid didn't seem to notice, too intent in forcing the water in his lungs out through his parted lips.

"That's it," Marco soothed. He rubbed at a trembling shoulder. Glazed grey eyes blinked to meet his. "You're alright. Just let it all out."

Namur patted the kid's back in encouragement, only to freeze when a low whine escaped the teen. His expression turned downcast. He withdrew his hand to hold it against his chest.

The blonde commander found that he couldn't bear to keep looking at his brother's disappointment. And so, he raised his head to everyone else. "Everyone, back to your stations!" he shouted as loud as he dared without alarming the kid. "There's nothing to see here!"

As the crowd dispersed, Marco caught Thatch's arrival. He signalled to grab the man's attention and, once he did, jerked his head towards the fishman. A look of understanding crossed the chef's features and he nodded. Soon enough, Thatch had gathered Namur, and both were on their way.

"How is he, son?"

Marco started to run his hand over the kid's shaking arms. "I think he's in mild shock."

His father knelt next to him, a massive size of a man still, as his amber orbs eyed the gasping pirate. Next to him, Ace looked ridiculously small.

"I did not think I hit him so hard," Whitebeard said. His lips were downturned. Probably in regret, the blonde thought.

Or maybe Ace was already unwell before this. Or maybe he'd wanted to give up. Marco had already noticed how the teen was drawing away from them. How he'd look at everyone with sheer distrust and a little touch of distress.

But Marco didn't give voice to these thoughts. There was nothing he could say that his father didn't already know.

After a few moments of silence interspersed with harsh, racking coughs, Ace seemed to gain a semblance of coherency.

"W-wha…" he mumbled as he looked about him in confusion.

Marco pressed the warmth of his hand onto the fire-user's arm. "It's alright. You're safe now, yoi," he said again.

Whatever he had expected, he didn't get the desired effect. Ace jerked away from his touch as if branded with the heat of a hot iron. His legs unwittingly curled. The overall effect, with his soaked through hair, flushed skin and wide greyish eyes, only made more pronounced how young the kid was. (_How small and pathetic he looked._) For a moment, the commander thought he could understand why Oyaji wanted him. Already he could feel the instinctive desire rising in him to protect, to shelter this seeming lost soul instead of letting him free into the viciousness of the world. Seas, the kid didn't even understand the ramblings of drunken men!

Caught in his thoughts as he was, Whitebeard decided to grab hold of the ship's wheel. "Are you feeling alright, my boy?" he asked gently.

To their surprise once again, Ace flinched at his voice. He looked up through damp black strands to glare at the Yonko in defiance. "Such concern," he tried to sneer. He sounded like a drowned cat. "I might actually think you care."

His father didn't rise to the bait. And, of course he didn't, Marco thought. Beneath that open contempt was a sliver of fear that shone so clear he wondered at himself why he hadn't caught it before. Had it always been there? Was Ace that good at hiding his emotions, or was this a result of his near-death experience? Or…had they been frightening him all along that he began to grow afraid?

Marco didn't like any of the possible answers.

"I am concerned," his father responded with an air of grace. As if that was the only possible answer. "If that helps."

Ace attempted to get to his feet. "It doesn't," he said flatly. He parted his lips, probably to throw another snide comment, when he collapsed to his knees. "_Damn it!_"

"You need a moment, Ace," Marco interjected. "Give it a minute."

"I'll give _you_ a minute to leave me alone!"

"You need a proper check-up, yoi," the commander insisted. "There might still be residual water in your lungs. You could die from that."

Ace remained unmoved. His breathing was still shallow. Too fast and too raspy for the blonde's liking. "I could also die by chucking myself into the sea again," he retorted. He spared a moment to cough into his arm. "Get away from me."

Marco exchanged a helpless look with his father. He didn't want to throw Ace over his shoulders. Not when the kid was actually afraid of them.

Whitebeard came to a decision. "It appears there is nothing else I can do here." His face almost looked grim. "Let me know how he fares, Marco."

"Of course, yoi."

Marco waited as his father left. He watched as the teen's eyes tracked the man's movements, the gleam of fear (ah. So that's why his captain left) slowly ebbing the further the Yonko was out of reach.

Ace huffed. "Trust him to leave the moment it got tough."

Marco went to his father's defence. "He didn't want to make you uncomfortable." _Or scared_.

"I-I wasn't!"

Marco didn't push further. "Come on," he said, trying to infuse his voice with a warmth he didn't quite feel. Ace tensed. He turned to eye the blond warily. But from the hazy look in his eyes, Marco knew he still wasn't quite there. "Let's get you checked over. I'll leave you alone right after, alright?"

Ace predictably scowled at him. "I don't–" He stopped short, then sighed. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered to himself. "Lead the damn way then."

Marco hid his surprise at the easy acquiescence but moved to help the reluctant kid to his feet. He wasn't going to question a good thing. No. He was going to bring the kid to the infirmary, then head to his room to study the enigma that was Portgas D. Ace.

* * *

Ace wanted to hit himself for his stupidity.

How in the world did someone like him end up in this situation, he'd never know. Life sucked, sure, but surely it didn't revolve around making a fool out of him, right?

He wasn't sure what had happened since he last made a trip into the sea. All he remembered was blacking out, with faint recollections of abject terror, and then suddenly looking up at the gigantic form of the strongest man in the world looming over him. As if freaking out wasn't embarrassing enough, Marco had had to drag him to the infirmary. He was then prodded at, questioned, and overall being made a big deal of. Like a child.

He supposed hoping for the entire incident to be swept under the rug and completely wiped off the face of the seas were too much to ask for too. No matter how backhanded or agitated his attacks were now, the Yonko seemed to take extra care in launching him towards anyplace but the open sea. The man once even caught him mid-air and placed him on his feet before him, like a child about to fall and then caught in the arms of the parent. The comparison only made a bubble of frustration well up inside him.

And everyone else! They acted differently about him now. For some reason, they kept smiling at him, their teeth bared as if threatening him with…hell, he didn't know. Part of him argued that they were being friendly, but the larger part of him felt frankly disturbed by the crew's reactions. Neither did it escape his notice how the bigger members of the crew had suddenly taken to weird activities on deck. Like knitting. Or reading a book. Or playing board games. It wasn't that the actions were odd, but seeing their large fingers struggle with the needles or watching them squint at the books in confusion gave him the impression that they weren't used to such activities. So, why were they doing it now? And board games? Why would anyone play board games under the one o'clock sun? Ace even witnessed how some of their game pieces were swept off by the wind. It just wasn't practical. What was their game?!

Whatever it was, something had changed after his near-drowning experience. And he could have avoided it all had he _just breathed in_.

But, no. He had to make his wonderful life better by throwing in more challenges and obstacles for him to overcome. He loved troubling himself, after all. It was no wonder the Whitebeards thought him a good fit for them, considering how they thrived by making his life as difficult and complicated as they could.

Ace put his head in his hands, exhaling loud enough to probably alert the entire crew to his frustrations. What did it matter anyway? His reputation of being a super rookie had already crash landed in a pile of crap, caught on fire, and then incinerated into dust. And he wondered why they didn't take him seriously. Because a teenage kid who nearly drowned within seconds of being in the water was oh-so-scary.

He was currently holed inside his room. Locked the rest of the world out through a flimsy door and a pathetic deadbolt. He could hear the Whitebeard pirates holding another one of their endless parties, the rambunctious shouts shattering the peace of his only safe place on this ship. Thatch had tried to draw him out earlier, but a fire fist had been answer enough.

But he was quickly realising it was a mistake. The closed door, the shut windows, and the dim glow of the lanterns made the cabin look incredibly small. The shadows cast about the edges of the room seemed to press down on him. He could feel its weight on his shoulders, making him hunch further into himself as he curled up on his bed. The noises outside did nothing to quell the whispers inside his head, the ones that all too often flared to life when he was alone.

_They are going to get you_, the voices sang. _Your strength is nothing here._

_You have nothing here._

With a growl, Ace rolled to his feet. There would be no sleep tonight. If he could escape undisturbed to one of the few unmanned crow's nests, maybe he would get some peace after all. That thought etched firm in his mind, he quietly left the refuge (unfortunate though it was) of his room.

The first thing that greeted him was the stench of mead. He wrinkled his nose. This was why he didn't like to drink. It smelt awful. He then eyed the mass of pirates milling on the deck. Right. He had to go through that. Swallowing the slight anxiety coiling in his stomach, he sucked in a deep breath and moved to weave through them.

He was stopped before he even reached the end of the corridor.

"Hey, heyyy. Isn't that the fire kid?" some voice slurred from behind him.

Ace stiffened, his guard slamming into place so fast he felt almost unbalanced. He turned to see four bulky pirates stumbling his way. Their eyes were bloodshot, as if they had gone days without sleeping, and in their hands were near-empty glass bottles. He didn't have to wonder why they looked familiar.

"Stay away from me, you drunk buffoons," he muttered.

He turned away when one of the men with that scraggly beard darted over to grab at his arm. Immediately Ace felt a drain through his body, like water rushing out the end of a pipe. His eyes widened in alarm. His fire was–! How–? His eyes darted to the offending limb. He caught the bright gleam of silver on the man's forefinger. A ring? A seastone ring?

"C'mon." The man licked his lips. "Play with us, kid."

"Let go of me," he demanded flatly, working to hide the instinctive panic from the loss of his flames. "Before I feed you to the sea kings."

Pirate Jerk One just barked out a laugh. The others sidled closer, and soon Ace was forced to move until he was backed against the wall. Pirate Jerk One tightened his grip, hard enough that the fire-user knew would leave bruises behind.

"Let go of me," he said again, enunciating his words in warning. "Don't make me say it again."

Pirate Jerk One bared his teeth in a threatening smile. His eyes darkened as he raked his gaze through the teen's form. Somehow, that action alone made Ace feel keenly exposed and vulnerable, for once wishing he had buttoned up his yellow top to keep it from prying eyes. He swallowed when the beefy pirate towered over him, highlighting just how much smaller the teen was when he had to lift his chin to even look him in the eye.

A rough hand pawed at his shoulder. It was close enough to his neck that his body immediately froze, all too aware of the danger he was in.

"Look at you," the pirate was slurring. "So pretty and small."

Pirate Jerk Two nodded his head along like a dumb idiot. "So very small," he agreed. "Can we play with him tonight?"

A shiver ran down the freckled pirate when four pair of eyes stared him down intensively. He could take them, he told himself. He had taken down worse. But these pirates were part of the strongest crew in the world. He had been unable to take down _anyone_ in this crew. And, despite the Yonko's insistence that he was safe here, he knew his fate would be sealed the moment he laid hands on the lower-ranking members of the crew.

"Think commander wouldn't–" Pirate Jerk Three hiccupped– "wouldn't be happy."

**_[WARNINGS FOR MILD SEXUAL ASSAULT]_**

Ace shuddered when course fingers tugged at his top. "Hate this ugly top," Pirate Jerk One muttered. "So ugly on such a pretty thing."

It was all the freckled pirate could do to keep the building fear at bay. He could feel the beginnings of panic thrum through his body, could hear his heart beating a mile a minute, could taste the cry at the back of his throat. _Fight back_, he heard the familiar pitch of a precious voice whisper in his head, _Ace, fight back!_

"Your allegiance with Whitebeard won't protect you," he warned in a final ditch attempt to get them to back off.

The pirates ignored him. Or, rather, they didn't seem to hear him, addled as they were in the throes of drunkenness. The sudden gleam in Pirate Jerk One's features was the only warning Ace received before a huge hand grabbed at his own face, forcefully pulling it high. The ugly mug's face was suddenly too close. Ace could smell the awful odour of mead in his breath. He caught the glazed look in the other's eyes.

"W-wha–?"

Then, to his horror and utter confusion, the pirate's chapped lips smashed against his cheeks. Rough stubbled grazed harshly against his skin, even as the bigger man began mouthing at the corners of his lips. Another set of hands crept between the tiny space between the two to paw at his exposed chest.

**_[END OF WARNINGS FOR MILD SEXUAL ASSAULT]_**

His mind blanked. Then, the dam broke.

Panic surged through him. With a choked cry, he started to struggle in earnest. "Get off of me!" The words came out muffled. He drew his hand back and shoved at the bulkier man. Pirate Jerk One stumbled back, his ugly mug surprised, before the silent one – Pirate Jerk Four – swept in to slam him back against the wall.

Ace wrenched free of the hold. He swung a fist at the other's face, then swept his foot underneath the man to send him sprawling gracelessly to the floor. Something tugged at the back of his shirt, hard, and then the material tore right off when the teen refused to go with the momentum.

"I warned you," he muttered. The familiar rush of battle soon overwhelmed the heady sense of fear. He ignored the knowledge that Whitebeard would have his head for this. He'd always planned to die fighting.

_No regrets_.

Pirate Jerk Four glowered at him. "You'll pay for that!"

"W-wait!" Pirate Jerk One moaned from his place on the floor. "He d-doesn't want it."

"Yeah, man, back off," Pirate Jerk Two said in a pained voice. Ace didn't quite recall when he had punched him too.

Pirate Jerk Four didn't heed their words. He stalked forward, his feet stamping on the ground loud, and his knuckles cracked. "I'll make you _beg_."

Ace readied himself. Might as well enjoy this while he could. He missed being able to hit back and know that it _hurt_ the other as much as he did.

Pirate Jerk Four lunged for him despite his comrades' cries. But, before he could land his attack, a flash of blue met him mid-swing. Sharp talons dug into the man's chest, then slammed the pirate onto the ground hard. Blue flames flickered in the air before dissipating to reveal a displeased first commander. The Pirate Jerk Four's features morphed into immediate terror.

Marco stared his brother down, his expression severe. A deep frown marred his handsome features, so different from the good-natured expressions he'd taken to recently with the teen. There must have been something frightening about the look alone, for soon the Pirate Jerk Four was mumbling apologies to the commander. The blonde was not appeased. He pressed his foot down harder, appearing unmoved even when his crewmate began sputtering in earnest.

Ace emptied his lungs of air as the earlier adrenaline slowly drained away. He tried to hold onto it. Marco, despite his kindness, was theirs.

"What–" the first division commander said dangerously. His gaze lingered on Ace's half-dressed state to the torn yellow top lying prone on the floor to his crewmates, who were edging away from him. "– is going on, yoi?"

The teen took an instinctive step back at the question, feeling something uneasy curl in his stomach at the blonde's tense demeanour. It was odd, _different_, and Ace realised with a start that this side of the commander scared him. At the sound, Marco's head jerked up to meet his eyes, his cerulean orbs guarded and _furious_. The teen's breath hitched.

The blonde's countenance darkened further. "_Explain yourselves._"

What could he say? That he attacked them because they began to touch him all over? Because it was uncomfortable, and he felt threatened by their proximity? That he didn't understand what they were trying to do, but he hit back anyway.

Ace lifted shaky fingers to his lips. "They wouldn't stop," he defended weakly, his voice too quiet to not sound guilty. "I tried– they– I…"

Marco returned his attention to the teen. His eyes darted to mouth, then up again. To Ace's surprise, he lifted his sandaled foot and struck Pirate Jerk Four with a force hard enough to send the man skidding into his other friends.

"Didn't I warn you to be mindful of your actions?" he said in a low voice. It screamed louder than if he had shouted. "Didn't I tell you that your lack of sobriety is no excuse?" He stalked towards his crewmates with soft, steady steps. For every step he took, the more fearful his men became. "Didn't I remind you that he is _off limits_?"

"C-commander!" Pirate Jerk Three cried. "We're sorry!"

"Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught, yoi?"

"Forgive us! We won't do it again!" Pirate Jerk One pleaded. Pirate Jerk Two nodded vigorously at his side.

Whatever it was that was on Marco's face must have terrified them further, for they blanched. Ace felt a tendril of worry despite himself. Whoever feared their own crewmate so badly?

"W-wait!"

Marco paused. His head inclined to the side in acknowledgement of his interruption.

"You're not…" Ace cleared his throat. "They…some of them tried to stop it." He ignored the way two of them looked up at him in surprise.

There was a brief pause. "Why do you defend them?"

Ace's posture stiffened. Yes, Ace, why? "I…You're not going to kill them, are you?" he burst out. He hated them, but it didn't mean he wanted them dead.

"Do you understand what they tried to do, yoi?"

The freckled pirate hesitated. "Kill me dead?" he hazarded a guess, sounding so unsure he knew no one would buy it.

Marco regarded him in silence. "I won't kill them," he finally said. "We don't kill our own. But–" at this, an undertone of grim satisfaction coated his next words– "we do punish them for their wilful behaviour." He waited a moment, but when he received no further response, he turned back to his crewmates. "Samy."

Pirate Jerk Four – _Samy?_ – jerked his head to stare wide-eyed at his commander. "Y-yes, Commander?"

"Find Namur and tell him your brothers have fallen overboard," Marco instructed. "Their lives are in your hands." Without warning, the blonde lifted the other three pirates one at a time and threw them as far as he could from the side of the ship.

It was only when the splashes registered in Samy's ears did he give a loud cry and dashed for the ongoing party metres from them, screaming for the fishman's attention.

Ace watched this through a haze of disbelief. It slowly sunk in that Marco believed him without question (_or he's trying to gain back the trust he now knows is broken_, a harsh voice whispered in his head. _Or waiting to punish you when no one is around_).

He raised his chin (when had he lowered his gaze to the floor?) when the commander approached him.

The older man looked impassive, but he couldn't quite hide his concern. His fingers kept twitching, as if they were being forcefully held back. Cerulean orbs scanned the teen's form quickly, before darting up to meet his gaze, as if afraid of giving off the wrong idea. "Are you alright?" he asked, sounding so concerned and warm that Ace's breath hitched.

An unexpected sting of tears sprang to his eyes. Marco was not his. But it was becoming incredibly difficult for him to hold fast to his anger towards this man. Marco, who had been steadfast from the start in his intentions and actions, who had sheltered him despite his constant refusals for help. It was tempting to be held in the comfort of his gaze. But he couldn't trust this man, he insisted. As kind as he was, he was part of the reason Ace was stuck here.

"This ship is hardly the best place for me, after all, don't you think?" he bit out. He forcefully tamped down the overwhelming desire to give in to the comfort Marco would readily offer him.

Marco's calm countenance didn't falter. "You defended yourself well. I'm sorry I took so long to get to you."

"How terrible of you. Or maybe this was an attempt to get rid of me," Ace spat.

"And waste all our efforts? Why would we do that, yoi?"

"To hide your shame when I still say no, for one thing." It sounded foolish even to the teen's ears. "They could have thrown me overboard and no one would have known."

The blonde inclined his head in apology, his chin dipping enough that his hair fell into his eyes. "I'm sorry for what they did," he said. "I will punish them accordingly."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Dumping them in the sea wasn't enough?"

Marco shrugged. "I have been told I have a nasty temper, yoi. And what they did was inexcusable." He fell silent, then, when he received no reply, he continued in the same quiet voice: "They are under my division. They should know better than to flout the rules." He paused, as if weighing his words. "I hope you may forgive them one day. That they were drunk doesn't excuse them. They may have learnt while sober that 'no' means 'no', but that lesson has yet to sink in when they are three sheets to the wind."

"Three…sheets to the wind?"

"It refers to when one has consumed too much alcohol, yoi."

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Ace shifted uneasily, not quite sure if he should scram or maybe throw himself into the deep waters to escape the pains of living. Marco – that wretched pirate - seemed unaffected. He continued to regard Ace with that same, somewhat sorrowful look. As if he was full of regret. As if he was in a position to feel sorry for him. Ace mustered whatever willpower he had to guard his resolve to despise the Whitebeards. To hold close to his heart all the times they had gone against his rights, against his dream for freedom.

And he might just know how to do it.

He recalled a snippet of the earlier incident. "Just now," he said, "you asked if I understood what they were trying to do. What did you mean by that?" Surely whatever it was those pirates had in store for him was so terrible that Marco had to stop it. This was what he needed, he told himself. This would prove that the Whitebeards were vicious pirates out to get him. (Though he still failed to understand why.)

To his surprise, the commander's features turned nervous. His sleepy eyes widened ever so slightly, and his lips parted into a soft, round 'o'. "You…remember that," he muttered.

Ace frowned. "What? What is it?" Horrible images of being gutted to death flashed through his mind's eye. "What were they going to do to me?"

Marco winced. "It's not what you're thinking of." He studied the teen with what could only be described as reluctance. Then, with a hand tugging at his blonde locks in resignation, he acquiesced with the look of a man destined for the plank. "Alright, yoi. Let's return to your cabin for some privacy, alright?"

The younger pirate balked. "Right. Because I'd love to walk with my murderer to an isolated place so he could murder me in private. Sure, let's go. I'd hate to make your murdering spree inconvenient."

The blonde looked torn between amusement and exasperation. He gestured at the teen's chest area. "I highly doubt this is a conversation you'd like to hear in your state of undress, Ace." His brow quirked. "Or am I wrong?"

Ace had to look down at himself to remember that, yes, his top was bare for the world to see. Damn his Devil Fruit for not letting him feel the cold! He fought valiantly against the blood that was rushing to his cheeks.

"That's beside the point! You could still kill me!"

"Ace," Marco said in that long-suffering tone of his. "If I wanted to brutally kill you here, I doubt my family would stop me, yoi."

Ace stopped short. His lips parted, then snapped shut. "W-we– I– Fine!" He shoved past the commander to stamp away. He harshly stabbed the passing relief that Marco would be the best option anyway into ribbons. Screw that man for his logic. What was he? A detective?

But, before he made it a few steps, a thought came to mind, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait, Namur hasn't been by yet to save your crewmates."

Marco wasn't even fazed. "It is difficult to find the one you're looking for when a party is in full swing," he admitted.

"Aren't you worried? It's been minutes! Wouldn't they have drowned by now?"

By this point, the Phoenix was blinking at him. "They can swim, Ace."

Oh. _Oh_. Ace sometimes forgot that swimming was a thing other people could do. "Oh. Right. Okay then."

"I thank you for your worry for my subordinates."

"Who the hell is worried!"

* * *

Ace only later understood why Marco had insisted to return him to his cabin before granting him the enlightenment he so desperately demanded.

The commander even refused to squeak a single word until he donned a new shirt. Except, he didn't have a spare. That had led to a clash of wills before the man left to retrieve a spare shirt he had for the teen to borrow.

"_A shirt? Don't you have a button down or something?"_

Marco's stiffening jaw shut him up real quick.

The next few minutes – or what could have been hours – were probably the longest of his short life. Marco not only interrogated him on what had transpired during the incident earlier, but he had refused to come within six feet of the freckled pirate. It shouldn't have mattered to the teen. Hell, he should be grateful. It was rare that he connected with someone so well, but that didn't mean he should drop everything he believed in just because his heart longed for friendship and comfort.

This train of thought was quickly derailed when the commander explained to him in quick, short sentences the answer he was looking for.

By the time it was over, Ace's face was on fire and Marco was looking away in slight embarrassment.

"Why the hell are _you_ embarrassed?!"

Marco looked towards the ceiling as if begging the heavens to drown him in patience. "I'm a pirate, Ace. I'm a son and I'm an older brother. That doesn't mean I have to explain to people about the privacies of the bedroom." He slapped a hand to his worn face. "I don't know how you didn't know any of that," he muttered to himself.

Ace would forever be grateful for the distance between them now because he desperately wanted to hide his face somewhere. "T-that's not my fault!"

"You asked!"

"I'm leaving!"

"What?"

"Your people wanted to do weird stuff with me," Ace choked out as he finally understood what…_perversions _those jerk-faces had. "The hell I'm staying!"

For the first time in over two months of knowing him, Marco dropped the composed air about him. His face turned an interesting shade of red as he near squawked in indignance. "No, you're not, yoi," he shot back firmly. "You're not leaving the ship this way. Not after I've taken the pains of having the damn talk with you!"

Ace snatched the pillows closest to him and launched them at the blonde. "Can't be more embarrassing than it was for me, you jerk!"

Marco glowered at him hotly. "I skipped parts, you ungrateful brat. You don't know half of it!" With that, he threw the offending projectile right back at the teen's face.

"_Get lost!_"

* * *

When Ace slammed the door in the disgruntled Phoenix's face, a small, tiny part of his mind wondered if this was how it felt like to have an older brother.

* * *

**That is all.**

**To clarify, the four pirates were dutifully punished the next morning. The Whitebeards are used to accidentally hitting on each other when drunk, but a clear signal would be a punch to the face, even if the attack was a light punch. But Ace wasn't aware of that. But, the rule was, no one was allowed to attack non-members of the crew, especially since they would perceive it as a full-blown assault. With that said, Whitebeard made all four to plead forgiveness from the fire-user the next morning, and then sentenced them to hard duties for the next eight months.**

**To summarise, I am _NOT_ suggesting that such attacks are tolerated. I am definitely not suggesting that they were downplayed merely because the consequences weren't shown here.**

**Also, Marco decided to briefly inform Ace of the basics that he needed to know. He originally wouldn't have if it were a non-member. Even if it were a sibling, he would have pushed it to someone else. The only reasons he decided to do it for Ace are (1) he didn't want the teen to remain that vulnerable on the chance he did leave the crew, and (2) he was aware that Ace was somewhat comfortable with him.**

**That is all. Do review, let me know your thoughts, your feedback, your comments. Reviews are so very encouraging!**


	4. The matter of realisations

**Hi everyone!**

**Hope everyone is doing well. I would love to write more but I am exhausted. In fact, just a note that this or the next chapter of Mini Snapshots may be the last I post for...probably a long time. Other employment commitments are coming up and I feel exhausted just at the thought of it. **

**This isn't even the full chapter. I wanted to roll something out before I started to work so I cut it off at the third part of the chapter...though I feel my muse is running out anyway. This isn't the hardest fic to write (Stockholm Syndrome is so terribly hard to write) but I took ages to get even this out. And apparently I am incapable of writing short chapters. I just find more and more things to write. And then I get tired. Terrible cycle, really.**

**Here it is. I hope you like it, and that it will be enough for the foreseeable future. I promise I'll try to return to my fics as often as I could. In the meantime, does anyone know of the fic wherein Ace is on the Moby Dick and Luffy calls him cause of some emotional emergency or something? I heard it's good but I can't seem to find it anywhere.**

**And do recommend any good Ace and Whitebeard pirates fics you know, okay! I've been writing so much but I've been reading so little. :(**

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

**The matter of realisations**

Two months and two weeks.

That was how much time Ace had wasted in this blasted manifestation of a nightmare on a ridiculous pathetic imitation of a whale-ship. That, of course, was owned by a crazy old man with grand delusions about being a father with his motley crew.

He felt the petty urge to mix in more swears, but like everything else he had tried, nothing short of drowning himself would ease the growing pulse of anger in his chest. (Though he wouldn't mind a night out with an endless supply of watermelon juice at his disposal. The last time he had indulged in it, he had had to share it with Luffy, as he had time and again over the years.)

Two months and two weeks of incessant attention plied at his feet. Two months and two weeks of spectacularly failing to force Whitebeard to his knees. Two months and two weeks of the irreversibly brainwashed crew trying their hand to get into his good graces.

What. Morons.

Ace didn't think he'd last this long without combusting into an inferno of rage. But he hadn't thought the Yonko crew would endure so easily to keep in tune with him.

Hell, they were settling into a damned _routine_. He may have been dragged onto the Moby Dick, unconscious and blissfully oblivious still of their plans for him, but even a kidnapped pirate would have to sink into a semblance of normalcy as the days blended into long weeks out at the big, blue sea. He'd have gone mad without rebalancing that sense of equilibrium, not after it had been disrupted so suddenly and so swiftly.

But why _why why_ did equilibrium have to be _this_?

Somehow, Thatch's visits to his room to deliver his meals personally had become the new normal. No longer did he feel the instinctive desire to hurl the carefully prepared food into the chef's face. He had also long become attuned to Marco's constant hovering presence. Even had come to enjoy the little back-and-forth banters they'd fall into sometimes when Ace refused to cooperate. The Phoenix had unwittingly caught on that retaliating with easy quips and smooth arguments near always soothed the freckled pirate's irritable moods. Ace had also become, through no volition of his own, more accepting of Izo's offerings of new articles of clothing to replace the ones he had torn beyond repair. As if receiving free garments were the reward for trying to assassinate one's father. It therefore was no surprise that the freckled pirate had normalised Vista's invitations to practise sword fighting, or Haruta's grudging attempts to drag him into playing cards (Ace knew the commander had been forced into it by Marco, given how he'd come stamping over after being pulled aside by the blonde). _Hell_, he found Rakuyo's stutters about baths and showers and how good they were for the spirit and soul endearing.

The realisation that he had changed – that he was amending his life narrative on this rival ship – had washed over Ace one afternoon. He was about to indulge in a nap when his disorganised thoughts had abruptly coalesced to form one nasty picture. As if a part of his mind had by luck found the light switch after months of groping in the dark. Ace had spent the rest of the afternoon examining and reflecting on all the ways he had accommodated the Whitebeards– on all the _little_ ways he had given in.

It made him feel sick.

It was also mortifying to realise how easily his heart crumbled at the face of a little attention and care.

That wasn't the worst part. The absolute crime was fathoming how far behind he was in recognising his position on this ship. As Ace had gripped at his face in mounting horror, his mind's eye had begun to pinpoint the various little habits of the crew that reflected how much they saw through him. Like that knowing look in Whitebeard's eyes as Ace rushed at him. As if he knew the fight was quick draining out of the fire-user. As if he knew that Ace had come to regard the assassination attempts as another chore to get over with before he could start his day. As if he knew that, deep inside, the teenager only kept going to avoid the whispers and the presumptions that he was giving up when, in reality, he had grown tired of such purposeless attacks. The thought was infuriating.

Ace no longer could deny himself from seeing the truth. He had _settled_ to achieve a state of balance in an environment that promoted anything but. Gone was that initial breath-stealing fury that raged through him in volcanic bursts, so all-consuming and fanatical that his throat would choke on ash and screams. Gone was that blinding intensity that even Ace, who was chained at the core of it, was shaken. On the other side of the field, no longer were the Yonko crew gawking at him and his bizarre actions. Whatever this nonsense was, Ace and the Whitebeard Pirates were both learning how to live with each other, even if in a way the latter was not satisfied with.

It was truly mad how plain old routine could calm the raging fire inside Ace. Nothing but the days and the newly negotiated normal had occurred, but it soothed the pulsing pain in his heart. Like an abandoned child thrust into the arms of kind strangers, Ace felt his insides crumpling as easily as a knife would slice through butter.

He hated it.

Now confronted with how preposterously weak he was – in more than the physical sense – Ace had to admit that there was no way out of it. He couldn't defeat Whitebeard. He couldn't defeat the crew. Some would have chosen to go out in a blaze of glory rather than submit to another flag. Perhaps take as many down as they could before they were put down themselves. But, while Ace's life had always been a question of worth, that didn't mean he felt the same for others.

Never mind that he couldn't hurt these people who have been part of his new 'normal' for two months and two weeks. The teenager was weak enough to yearn for the scraps for the attention thrown his way. How could he find it in his heart to inflict real pain on those who had looked him the eye and said, 'We want you'?

Maybe two months and two weeks were not a long time.

To Ace, it was all the time the Whitebeards needed to back him into a corner.

To Ace, it was the time he needed to decide he needed an out.

* * *

Before Ace attended to Whitebeard's summons, he took extra care to guard himself from any prying eyes. Squared his shoulders, stamped down his mess of emotions, and steeled his heart.

He stood before the Yonko with his feet apart. His back was straight, and his arms were folded across his chest. He knew the sort of image he was presenting to both the present crew members and their captain; defiant, displeased, challenging. He only reinforced this image by drawing the coldest look he could summon to ice his grey orbs. It was, overall, a pitiful attempt from a 17-year-old to intimidate the rumour strongest man in the world, but Ace had never been known to back down from an adversary. (As a moron, yes. An idiot? Yes. But never a pushover.)

A part of him wondered what the summons was for. The Yonko had been so far been content to allow his children to take the lead in convincing Ace to join the crew. He clenched his fists as another thought drifted through his head.

"Do you think me a servant?" Frost could have escaped his mouth. "To summon me as you please and to dismiss whenever you'd like?"

He could hear the whispers sweeping through the passing Whitebeards. Some of the commanders that stood by watched the exchange with unreadable looks, choosing instead to wave off their siblings to turn away from the two captains. It was impressive, to say so himself, how the lower-ranking subordinates obeyed without protest.

Whitebeard regarded him with mild humour, not at all fazed by the teen's belligerence. "And yet you are here," he rumbled. He raised the bottle of sake he had been drinking from to his lips. Beside him, his first mate cast the old man a withering glare, before pursing his lips in clear displeasure and returning his attention to the freckled pirate. His sky-blue eyes met Ace's and Ace looked away.

"So, you admit it," the teen said almost lazily. "You want me as your little errand boy because you clearly don't have enough at your disposal."

If it were any other person, Ace knew he would have been struck off his feet and chucked into the sea for his insolence. And yet his heart still raced in anticipation, like an athlete who had started running seconds late after his opponents had shot off ahead.

That knowing look that Ace so hated glinted in the Yonko's amber eyes. "If I wanted an errand boy, I'd look for the marines, brat. You wouldn't listen to the instructions, much less go through them."

The heat in Ace's chest receded. "At least you know that," he muttered. Then, in a voice much louder than he had intended, he continued, "What do you want?"

Whitebeard did what he did best: he laughed.

"Cheeky brat," he said almost fondly. He grinned when Ace rolled his eyes. "We are heading into Jukuko Island at noon today for resupplying and to look for some wayward brats who decided to make my territory their playground. It's a fairly large island. I should warn you it is not the best place to wander alone."

Oh? They were going to allow him to leave the ship? Ace's eyes sharpened. "Oh? Duly noted. I'll make my escape before evening then. So, don't bother to make dinner for me. That would be waste of good food."

"You may wander the island as you please," Whitebeard continued, opting to ignore whatever the younger pirate had just said. "Maybe get a breather to cool that nasty temper of yours too."

Ace felt the sharp spike of irritation rise from his tightly restrained bubble of emotions to the surface. "What did you say?!"

"What is it? Weren't you aware of your terrible temper?"

The twitch at the corners of the old man's lips was all the teen needed to see to know he had walked straight into the man's trap. What a _jerk_. "Stop messing with me!" he hissed lowly. There was no need to further confirm the comment about his temper.

As always, Whitebeard backed off with that annoying-as-hell twinkle in his eyes, as if he had the right to patronise the freckled pirate. Then, probably knowing his next words would land a blow harder than a physical jab in the stomach, the Yonko gentled his words: "Some of the commanders will show you around the island. So, make sure you let them know when you wish to head in, my boy."

For once, Ace didn't feel the same indignant anger that peaked at the sheer audacity of being labelled as, in any way, the man's 'boy'. There was only much of himself (and was he simply not the embodiment of monstrous rage?) he could give. Even he was not fool enough to give in to the same reactions that would yield the same old responses. Was there any point when he would ultimately emerge humiliated and defeated anyway?

"Is that all you want to tell me?"

Whitebeard's gaze sharpened in interest. "Oh? Have my children finally gotten through to you?"

"Yes. Their constant attention makes me want to choke on my tongue and die," Ace said flatly. And maybe top it up with generous amounts of blood soaking through the wood of the Moby Dick. He'd be dead, but there was sick glory in leaving behind some form of legacy on this cursed ship.

Ace could see from the corner of his eyes Marco straightening in alarm. The whispers from the peanut gallery too had turned into mutterings that washed across the deck like waves rolling in for high tide. This was different, after all, he reasoned as he shifted from the attention. They were too used to the same old routine. They didn't know yet that Portgas D. Ace's greatest adversary was himself.

"But that's not the way a pirate worth his salt should go, is it?" He found his tongue was still moving. "If you are true to your words, why don't _you_ just take _my_ head off?" He dragged a finger across his neck to add to the effect. "It would be a glorious end and has the benefit of solving our problem right here and right now."

When Whitebeard's reaction was to regard him in silence, Ace let his hand drop from his neck. He could almost imagine the wheels turning in his head– spinning, spiralling, corkscrewing into little shattered pieces.

_Don't waver._

"No? Then I'll be having my morning nap that you so inconveniently bothered for this little talk of ours." Ace threw him a mock salute and turned away. But before he could move more than a few steps, he halted. "Just so we're clear," he said over his shoulder, as if he was giving voice to a mere afterthought, "if I return to this ship from this island, it won't be because I wanted to."

Ace didn't wait for a response. They were his kidnappers and he their captive. It wouldn't do for anyone to forget that.

* * *

Thatch jogged over to his captain's seat the moment Ace's back disappeared from view. He could already hear Marco's harried 'conversation' with Whitebeard – if it could be considered one – when all Whitebeard did was nod along.

"Back to your stations!" Jozu was yelling behind him as his nosey brothers and sisters still hung back on the deck to watch their daily entertainment fall into…what even was that? Ace was temperamental and fickle at the best of times. What had just transpired was almost distant and intentional.

"He's never behaved like that before, yoi," he heard Marco say as he neared. "Did something happen between the two of you last you fought?"

Whitebeard finally shifted and answered his eldest son's persistent questions. "I've stopped chucking the brat into the sea," he said after a moment of thought. "Ever since that day he almost drowned." The corners of his lips twitched in what could only be amusement. "He became even brattier after that."

"What did you expect?" Thatch couldn't help but add. He waved when the two turned to him. "Teenage captain fresh on the seas? You get a teenager's temper and a captain's temper all rolled in one."

"Thanks, Thatch," Marco said dryly. "That really helped. That solves our problem now."

"Blame Oyaji. He's the one who wanted a fire-wielding 17-year-old as our brother."

The Yonko threw him a grumpy look. "As my son," he corrected.

"Which, by default, makes him our brother. Face it, Oyaji. You brought him here. You should find a way to fix this."

Whitebeard's grumpy look soured. He cleared his throat and, predictable, turned to his eldest son pleasantly. "Marco."

The chef grinned when his blonde brother sighed in that profound way that meant he would consciously calm down and not fuel his inherent propensity to panic. Marco glared at his father in clear but not unexpected displeasure. "Why do I have to fix this, yoi," he grumbled. "I'm not the one who decided to bring the kid and all his tantrums with us."

Whitebeard shook his head in disappointment, though the effect was ruined by the decidedly wolfish grin on his unrepentant features. "I am old, my boy, and you are the eldest. You shouldn't be calculating, and help out your old man more," he said.

Thatch snickered. "Yeah, Marco. Think of the kind of example you're setting for your siblings."

Marco rolled his eyes briefly before looking skyward, as if the clear skies would rain upon him a solution to his problems. "Both of you get along like a riot. Why don't you both solve this instead of me. I have other work to do, you know." His eyes flicked to the direction in which Ace had gone off, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "We had been getting along better too," he muttered.

That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? They had observed considerable progress over the weeks. Despite the kid's suspicions, it took a lot of effort to safeguard the crew's wellbeing with a potential hostile on board. Select leaders were assigned the joyous task of monitoring the kid. They watched over his few engagements with the crew, ready to step in should clashes break out and potentially cast lasting effects on either party. They identified the more loud-mouthed siblings and minimised the risks of them crossing paths with Ace. Sentinels were scattered across the ship to watch out for teenagers falling into the sea by accident (courtesy of one sleeping fiasco gone wrong). Assessing his deteriorating health (a result of Ace's own recklessness, consistent new injuries, and poor self-care habits) even became a priority for a selected group of doctors and nurses.

The commanders too were activated. Their schedules were carefully revised so they each, with Marco in the lead, would keep in consistent contact with Ace. Ensure he was familiar with them instead of throwing him the deep end with hundreds of new faces. And, because, of course, the kid was a powerhouse that needed a commander-level pirate to deal with to prevent unnecessary injuries

To that end, they even had had to relocate and amend rosters across the ship to ensure all weaker crew members steered clear of one pissed off fire-user. Except this one plan had been done away with within the second week when it became clear Ace had no interest in those members at all.

Thatch still remembered the incident. Oyaji had just hit the kid with a blow so hard (why the old man couldn't go easy on the kid, he'd never know) that Ace had gone through two floors before landing onto two unsuspecting souls. It had offered him the prime opportunity for petty vengeance. His brothers were already knocked out. Kid could have easily claimed the deaths an accident. But by the time Marco had flown through the gaping holes in the ceiling, Ace had gone. Their brothers were propped up on their beds (well, Ace got the wrong beds but that wasn't the point), arranged in such a way that their injuries were presented most clearly to anyone who walked in.

The chef's doubts about the kid were wiped that day. He even looked forward to the day he could openly claim Ace as his _youngest_ brother. Well, without a fire fist to his face.

He wasn't the only one. Thatch knew his siblings looked forward to returning to their former lives without having to mind their new addition at all times. And most of them were big softies anyway. A kid like Ace practically begged for their attention and care.

Still, the recent week concerned him. There was a different aura about the kid. It flowed off him like a chilling (ironic though it was) breeze that threatened to strike those who strayed too near. As if that coldness in the storm that were his grey eyes weren't enough.

"We might have caught him at a bad time," Izo's voice joined in the conversation as he took his place on Whitebeard's left. The kimono-clad pirate twirled some loose hair between his fingers. "He was sleeping, wasn't he? It could be a one-off thing."

"Kids are fickle too, aren't they? I heard they swing between their moods worse than the New World weathers," Thatch added despite not believing a word of it. Well, Ace was irritable, yes, but he didn't really jump from one temperament to another without due cause.

Marco, who had remained silent through the hushed discussion, shook his head. "I don't think so, yoi," he said. He looked pensive as he tilted his head towards them, eyes still fixed in the far distance. "Watch yourselves around him," he instructed. "We will play it by ear."

Thatch inwardly sighed as the group eventually dispersed. Play it by ear. Hadn't all these months been them planning ahead while that kid flung all their expectations into the sea? Like the fruitless attempts at attacking Whitebeard. His scathing replies to the commanders despite believing his life was in their hands.

Marco stopped before the present commanders were too far away to not hear him. There was a promise of danger gleaming in his eyes. "By the way," he said, "if I find whoever had pissed Ace off this time, I'll make that same person in charge of fixing this whole mess. That includes everything Ace breaks courtesy of himself and Oyaji." He then left without another word.

Thatch sighed. Poor guy. He must be disappointed. If he got along with Oyaji like a riot, those two fire-users were like a house on fire.

Really. All this rejection was exhausting.

* * *

Ace paid the Whitebeard pirates no mind as he made his way past the mass of people clambering down the ascension bridge. He could feel the pairs of eyes straying to him, could feel the halting whispers about him. He didn't care. (He did.) Rather, he sped up his pace to put more distance between them. He knew full well he wouldn't be alone for much longer.

Just as his foot touched upon the soil of Jukuko Island, there was the familiar crackle of flames next to him and then Marco was stepping out coolly, his features ever impassive.

"I was waiting for you, yoi."

Ace spared him no attention and continued on his way. When he felt the commander following him, he huffed in the easy annoyance he always felt under the man's silent attention.

"That's not very nice, yoi" Marco said after ten minutes of blessed quiet. "We could go for a nice walk in town today. There's even a nice museum here I could show you. Pretending I don't exist puts a real damper on our plans, you know."

Ace pursed his lips in determination. Marco was dangerous, he reminded himself. The tightness in his chest told him all he needed to know about the man. Not only was he the first mate and therefore able to beat him into the ground with little difficulty, but the commander also had the disturbing ability to make the teen feel things he didn't want to feel.

His fears were proven correct when the older man took his silence as his cue to start a one-sided conversation. He prattled on about the things he had seen about this town and the activities they could do together. As if Ace would want to relax somewhere with a warm mug of coffee in his hands, or meander about the town aimlessly with a friend.

The freckled pirate's hold on his self-control finally snapped when Marco mentioned the fine watermelon juice this town had to offer. "What will it take for you to _shut up_?" he snapped. "How can you even talk so much to yourself?"

Marco blinked at him. "I was talking to you," he clarified. "I never said I was quiet either."

"I know for a fact you don't normally talk this much, you lying turkey."

Marco frowned at the insult. "I'm a Phoenix, yoi," he corrected despite fully knowing the younger pirate didn't give one whit about it.

"I don't care," Ace said curtly. He quickened his pace. "Even a chicken would be better than you. I could still eat it." He put in as much physical space he could from the commander. "You're just an annoying bird who won't leave me alone." _Right, that's the way, Ace. That's the cool, collected way to assert your dominance over the first mate of the strongest man in the world_, his internal voice sneered.

"I had thought it would endear me to you."

Ace choked out a laugh of disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Not at all. I've put in a lot of effort to get to know you, and for you to know me in return."

It was truly a pity the first commander was impervious to fire. "And? Did you want an award for that?" Ace snarked, infusing his words with sarcasm so thick even he was impressed.

Not that that stopped Marco the Phoenix from playing along. "Yes," he said. "I would."

"What?"

Marco didn't blink. "I do want an award for that since you brought it up. After all my efforts to make you comfortable."

That…was new. Ace halted in his tracks and turned to the commander. They had walked far away enough that no other Whitebeards crowded around their persons anymore. Perhaps it was the impassive look on the blonde's face too, but it didn't take a genius to catch the others skirting around them as if they stood within a circle of lava.

Ace crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. "What do you want then? My head on a pike? Do you need to let off some steam? I hear beating someone you hate up makes you feel a lot better. Or maybe you just get a kick out of annoying me all day and every day till I die from the sheer longing of wanting to wring your little turkey neck."

A flash of amusement crossed the other man's countenance briefly but a split second later and Marco's features returning to being impassive. Ace felt his muscles tense at the sudden drop in pressure.

"You're acting different," Marco finally said. "Did we do something to offend you, yoi?"

Ace gaped at the man in disbelief. "Are you being serious right now?" he demanded, almost dumbfounded. He shook his head when the older man merely regarded him with that same severe look. "Right. Has it ever occurred to you that not everyone wants to be part of your crew? That not _everyone_ likes you? How arrogant must you be to believe yourselves so exceptional that everyone would want to crawl on their knees and beg to join you."

Marco didn't appear fazed. "What happened?" he repeated.

The younger pirate looked past the commander to see the distant roofs of the town just a little bit away from them. So close. This was the first island the crew had set foot on with him on board. He yearned for a breather, for some space to sort out his thoughts. On an island where people would not run when they saw him coming.

"_You_ happened, that's what," Ace snapped. "I don't want to see you. Leave me alone."

A firm hand grabbed at his as he tried to shove past. "Tell me what happened," Marco insisted.

Ace couldn't even feel the rage that would have bubbled to the surface a week ago. "Let me go."

Marco sucked in a deep breath and, to Ace's surprise, let go his hold with a sigh. The blonde pressed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. It was the look of a man who was so world-weary and yet had to bear through the pains of living through sheer will alone. Tsk. How pathetic.

"I'm sorry, yoi. I just worry," the commander admitted softly. "You have been harassed by the crew before. I worried that you might be…hiding your pain from us. I didn't mean to–"

Ace could feel the beginnings of guilt tug at his chest. He didn't like that look on the Whitebeard's face. Hated it even. His jaw locked despite himself. "_Don't_ pretend to care," he snapped as he slammed the betraying guilt back into the recesses of his weak heart. "Don't act as if you're in _any_ position to pretend to care about me. It's pathetic and disgusting."

That hit a nerve. The blonde commander's countenance blanked. Ace couldn't pinpoint what it was that had changed, couldn't tell exactly the emotions that went unseen behind that cool façade. Not for the first time, the teen could believe why the man scared legions of marines and pirates alike. That face of placidity alone was enough to clench Ace's heart into knots of anxiety. He swallowed to quell the uneasiness rippling beneath his skin.

Marco drew in a deep breath before exhaling softly. "I won't say we don't deserve that," he said. His eyes, shadowed by a passing cloud, looked away. "I only hoped you'd understand, yoi."

"Understand what, exactly? You can't say you care about me while you chain me to you at the same time. That's not care. That's oppression."

"…are you really that unhappy with us?"

"Indescribably."

There was another long, drawn-out silence, as if Marco couldn't find the right words to speak. When it came, it was disappointing. "I see, yoi."

Ace waited for something more. Perhaps for the blonde to go on once more how the teen would fit well into the family, that they could offer him a world of adventures, or that he had yet to give them a real chance to prove themselves to him. Which, he thought, was ridiculous. What did a Yonko crew have to prove? To a rookie captain, no less? He may not be a fan of logic, but the sheer ridiculousness of that was too much even for him. When nothing further passed through the older man's lips, the freckled pirate let out an impatient (_why was he disappointed?_) huff.

"_If_ that's all," he said curtly. He took a step forward to make his escape when another overly familiar voice interjected.

"Ace! Marco!" Thatch was suddenly beside him, his chirpy features all sunny and bright. "Are we going into the island already?" he asked a little too cheerfully.

Marco didn't say a word, and neither did Ace.

"Did I interrupt something?" the chef said slowly after a moment of hushed stillness. His dark eyes flitted between the two. "Okay… How about we go into town and grab some drinks? We could treat this like a vacation! We don't have to do work, except the usual supervision of the crew, sure, but we can take the day off together. What do you say, Ace? Sounds great?"

Not for the first time, the youngest pirate wondered at how such a man managed to climb the ranks to a division commander. Tactless. Thoughtless. So damned oblivious yet intuitive. How irritating that he reminded Ace of Luffy.

Deciding that he was quite done playing by their rules, the teen swivelled round to stalk off.

"Hey! Ace!"

"Follow me and I'll burn your hair off."

When something brushed at his arm, Ace breathed out and succumbed to the simmering pit of red pulsing within his person. He snarled and let loose a swell of bright hot flames. A rush of orange burst before his eyes. He could feel the familiar heat searing through his skin, could feel it lash out angrily at the two commanders.

He sucked in a breath when he felt another presence come into the fray. It licked against his fire like a soft breeze against harsh waves. There was a weighted calmness to this aura, heavy and yet undemanding. Ace didn't think he would ever forget how his whole body seemed held in time as his stormy grey eyes met the now obsidian orbs of the Phoenix. A wave of blue washed away the destruction of his flames, leaving behind charred ground and a wave of warm air. Marco lowered his left wing, held protectively in front of Thatch, like a buffer from the ruin that Ace possessed inside him. The chef was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before.

Ace swallowed. He had attacked Thatch. Not as bad as attacking a lower-ranking member of the crew but…

_I am my own person._

"Leave me alone," he said. Then, with added venom in his voice, he sneered, "In the meantime, get it through your thick skulls that _you're_ not good enough for me."

When the two Whitebeard commanders stood still across the chasm that separated them, Ace shot them one last glower and stalked off.

* * *

"That went well," Thatch said dryly.

Marco shot him a look. "Did you have to do that?"

The chef lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "You both were at a standstill. He needed to get away. Though he may try not to show it, he still needs an excuse to run." The corners of his lips curled into a small grin. It would have been hilarious too, had it not been so endearing. Ace claimed to detest them, but he couldn't even rail against them without feeling a little guilty. "Kid doesn't know how transparent he is." Another thought occurred to him and he patted his brother on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Oh, thanks for protecting me, eh. Not that I needed it, but I appreciate the thought."

Marco's response was underlined with disapproval. "You didn't even try to guard against it."

"You'd have shielded me anyway so why waste my energy." His gaze swept across the open not far behind them. Their siblings who had opted to go for dry land had mostly dispersed. Those that still strayed nearby still noticeably avoided going near them, though he could catch a few pairs of eyes darting to them in curiosity. He would have thought the drama that was Portgas D. Ace would have died down by now. Trust the kid to send himself right back into the fray of attention when he wanted none of it at all.

"So, what do we do?"

"He needs to cool down, yoi."

Thatch hummed under his breath. "You know," he said after a beat, "it's really not a mystery."

"What do you mean?"

The chef jerked his chin at the blonde, then pointed to himself with his thumb. "Us," he clarified. "He's right, you know. If I didn't know how dangerous these seas are, I'd say we are terrible people who stalk kids into joining some cult."

It spoke volumes when Marco didn't react to their family likened to a cult. While the fourth commander adored his family to hell and back, he wasn't so cut off from reality that he couldn't recognise what the Whitebeard pirates represented to the world. They were, as rumours would have it, the strongest crew that sailed the seas. They represented the strength of sailors who heed no authority or law but their own. In other words, nobody policed them but their captain and the arm of commanders that exerted the Yonko's will. Thatch understood the kid's resistance, but that made him all the more charming, really. There was no shadow of doubt that Ace would join because of their reputation.

Thatch scratched at the hair above his ear. But his dear blonde brother saw it differently. He recognised the way his brother was lost in thought. There was an unspeakable tension in the other's form, so easily dismissed to be an illusion of the mind, when really Marco was, for the first time, truly considering the idea that Ace might really wish to leave.

For all that Marco the Phoenix was a rational man, he loved and cherished his family so deeply that he was quite unable to comprehend the idea of anyone not wanting to be part of it. To Marco, the family was a precious gift. To offer that sacred gift to another was a privilege of the highest order. He may not show it, but to have it constantly rejected and scorned at must hurt the man's pride. It was fortunate that Marco too possessed enough rationality to balance that sentimental part of him. Still, the chef didn't like seeing his brother like this.

"Come on, brother," he said. He squeezed the hard muscles of the blonde's shoulders. "Let's keep the town free of fire."

* * *

Jukuko Island was one of the many islands under Whitebeard's protection.

It was, Ace had to grudgingly admit, remarkably peaceful for an island in the New World. As most fresh pirates would agree with him, the expanse of the Grand Line that bled into Paradise and the New World was not, in fact, always linear. The three distinct spaces were marked by the measure of danger that lurked beneath and above the waters. And like any pirate who were full of themselves, few made the decision to tread carefully.

Ace was one of them. He was lucky enough – surprising though it was – to find other like-minded souls who longed for an escape from the prison of their islands. He called upon those who sought purpose in their lives, those who lived by the day, and those who desired to get away from their lives. They came together like a miracle in the end. Like people who were meant to find each other in this tragic world. Who knew someone with his temperament would somehow stumble along and find ways to connect with others? It was hard, but his crew was forgiving to his many faults.

They sailed like pirates who cared naught for the rules of the seas. They crossed the waters of the Grand Line, straight through Paradise and then barrelled their way into the New World. If their journey ended today, at least they ended together and with the heart of a pirate. _The Spade Pirates_, they had laughed over a dinner that lasted into the woes of the morning. _Living life like a gamble. And our captain is the Ace of Spades!_ Even Ace thought it fitting. If their coming together was a miracle, their existence was grounded in fate.

Perhaps it had something to do with his own age-old beliefs about his existence, but he travelled the seas with little thought for the world. He caught the sufferings of the people in the nooks and crannies of poverty-driven villages, observed how entire kingdoms crashed in the matter of days, and breathed the very air of corruption and greed that permeated the soil that reeked of human presence. He'd thought the Goa Kingdom and Grey Terminal were bad. Who would have known there were far worst atrocities far off in the horizon?

It was only then that Ace thought he understood how truly freeing it was to be a pirate. To leave entire lands behind like severing the chains that latched onto people over the years. To brush away all the hatred, the anger, the resentment that had once taken root beneath their feet. Some would argue pirates were thus cowards who ran away in tough times. But was not the world vile enough that people _should_ want to escape? There were few brilliant things in this life (like the Sun that was Luffy and the moon that was his precious brother Sabo), but how good could a world that had hunted for his and his mother's death for a sin not their own be?

How could anyone believe in _goodness_ in such a world?

But…as Ace paced the streets of Jukuko Island, he couldn't for the life of him find that familiar stench of ugliness he had come to associate with people. He focused on the careless designs of the buildings, where bright red windows clashed with yellow and purple splashes of colour across the blocks. Pastries and cafes were tucked into every corner of the street, the glowing interior loud with the warmth of companionship and tinkling glasses. It was…peaceful. As if the townspeople were of a privileged sort– the kind who could afford to build luxurious spaces that were meant to cultivate safe and healthy relationships. Everywhere the fire-user looked, the more he caught the little details that hinted at a thriving community; the little swings by the shophouses and the children that ran about it; the unattended roadside food stalls as owners strayed to chat with their neighbours; and even the easy manner the locals walked amongst the Whitebeards, as if they were blinded from the dangers that walked in their midst.

It seemed too…perfect.

A light snow was falling over the low, wide buildings that lined the slow streets of the town. Few people milled around, and those that did bore the emblazoned mark of Whitebeard. To their credit, many kept their gazes straight and looked past him quickly when they happened to look his way.

The teen didn't pay them any mind, though he couldn't help wondering when the commanders would drop by to keep him in check. It had been hours, by the looks of it, and no one had come. Did they think he wouldn't run? They claimed to be charged with his protection, but on an island with potential hostilities, did they somehow believe he was capable of protecting himself? Or was this an excuse to leave him behind?

Ace shook his head to banish the thoughts. It was good they weren't hovering over him. He wasn't one of them. They had no reason to care.

To distract himself, the fire-user's eyes strayed to one of the bakeries by the side of the road. His feet halted as he looked inside. There were pastries of all kinds. Baked goods. Croissants. Those wonderful albeit odd-looking circular bread with holes in the middle. Some were topped with a chocolate layer and bits of colourful confetti. Ace didn't know what they were called, but the smell wafting through the narrowed spaces beneath the closed doors told him it must be something heavenly. Already he could feel his stomach awaken in earnest.

The moment of longing was broken by a soft sniff. Ace's head jerked so fast to the right he could swear his neck cracked at the force of it. His worries were quickly dismissed when he saw a child – a five, six-year-old? – squatting by the side of the road. The little girl was dressed in thin layers despite the snow. She must already be feeling the cold with the way her tiny hands grabbed at her fronts of her jacket to drag them closer to her chest. The teen walked slowly towards her, curious, and– ah, at least she was wearing padded boots. That would save her numbed blisters from the cold, at least.

"Hey," he called out softly, not quite thinking at his actions. "How are you doing?" He'd learnt the hard way that asking children anything deeper than that didn't reflect well on him, though Deuce never quite told him why.

The girl looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. Her lips puckered into a soft 'o' when she studied him in curiosity.

Ace smiled gently at her. Not wanting her to crane her neck further, he fell into a squat, careful to not stray too near. "Aren't you cold in this weather?"

She shook her head.

Ace wished he could tell if she was lying. His Devil Fruit was absolutely useless in helping him gauge the temperature around him. "I see," he nodded anyway. "Are you here alone?"

Little Girl blinked at him, then looked about her in innocent confusion. She then proceeded to slap her face with the palm of her little meaty hand.

Ace's own hand shot out to grab at hers. "Hey, hey, don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

Perhaps it was the heat from his skin that drew her, but her eyes went wide, and she gasped in that endearing way only a child could. She hopped to her feet and toddled over to him, and soon Ace had a toddler clinging to his knees for warmth. The teen sucked in a deep breath. Was she alone too? A cursory glance over the street and already the day's activities were dying down. The night was dismal and cheerless, despite the ringing laughter from slow passers-by and, more importantly, there were no frantic adults searching desperately for a lost child that he could see. That was, if indeed parents did care for their offspring, he guessed.

"You must be cold, huh?" he mumbled to himself.

A loud rumble from Little Girl's tummy startled him into a laugh. "Oh, you're hungry too." He winced. He didn't have anything to offer her. He himself lived upon the generosity of the Whitebeards.

Except…Ace breathed in the wonderful scent of freshly baked pastries. He flicked his gaze between the two in consideration. When Little Girl raised her chin from the little juncture between his knees to peer at him, her brown orbs trusting and curious, the teen sighed. All of a sudden it was Luffy pressing against him. Whining that he wanted food. Stupidly deluded in the belief that Ace would solve it for him. Ace wondered if this child had her own Ace.

Guess this town wasn't so perfect after all. There would always be those who were left behind.

"Wait here, okay?" He urged her away from him and adding when she whined, "I'll get you some food." Then, with a look towards the skies at the falling snow, he grabbed his hat and gently placed it on her head, taking care that it didn't slide right off. "That should keep you a little warm." Little Girl just laughed in delight as she grabbed at the huge accessory on her head carelessly.

Ace strode into the bakery with all the confidence of a teen pirate captain in a Yonko's territory; that is, he walked in with his head bowed and shoulders slightly hunched. He didn't think he could face it if they thought him a thief and Marco had to swoop in to save his pathetic butt. (Where even was he anyway?) The bell tinkled above him cheerily, belying the suspicious look the baker threw him as he shuffled to the counter.

"Can I help you?" a middle-aged brunette – presumably, the baker – asked.

Ace's gaze raked across the pastries stacked neatly against the display counter. For a quiet town, the prices were exorbitantly high. He chewed the inside of his cheek in uncertainty.

"I…" he trailed off when the baker's eyes lifted in impatience at him. He cleared his throat and squared his jaw. "I'd like to buy something," he said firmly. "Anyone of these." He gestured at the pastries.

The baker leaned back. He looked the teen up and down. "Okay. Which one?"

Ace bit his bottom lip, then sighed. "Okay, I can't pay for it," he admitted honestly. "I don't have any money on me. But–" at this, he fingered the beads on his neck in reluctance– "I know I don't have much on me, but is there anything I could offer you in return? I could work for it too. I don't look like much, but I can be pretty useful in hard labour."

Something flickered in the man's gaze, too quick for Ace to catch it. The baker swept his shoulder-length brown hair into a bun. "I suppose you look like you could have a meal or two," he commented gruffly.

"No, no! You misunderstand." A pause. "There's a…child outside," he mumbled. "She looked hungry, but I don't have anything. Just maybe a little something for her."

"Look," he said, lifting his chin to finally look at the baker once more, cheeks hot, "I can help you clean up or throw the trash. Or, or, I could sell you these red beads. It's from an island in East Blue. It's hard to find anywhere." (Total lie. He had no idea, but it was precious to _him_.) "Maybe just a…" Ace faltered when he saw the brunette had shed his earlier cold posture, and was now smiling at him, his eyes almost twinkling.

"I see," the man said. He then angled his head to the door. "Lucy! Get in here!"

Ace watched in shock as the Little Girl immediately got to her feet and scampered into the bakery with little fuss. The cowboy hat still hung on her head, an endearingly hilarious look on such a small person, but she hopped away when the baker tried to take it from her.

"Now, now," he said. "Give it back to this nice man, Lucy. You know you don't need it."

The baker gave up when Little Girl – _Lucy _– bounded over to hide behind Ace's legs. The corners of his eyes crinkled. It struck the fire-user somewhere in his mottling chest, sparking in him a jittery warmth that had his breath stolen in a second. _Shit_. He had seen that look before. "I'm sorry about earlier," the man apologised. "I've never seen you before and you don't wear the Whitebeard's mark. Not that I expected any other non-locals to be hostile, but it's good to keep our guard up, eh?" At Ace's befuddled look, he gestured to Lucy sheepishly. "That squirt hiding behind you is my daughter. She likes to hang around by the door until it gets too cold for her. Could never convince her to stay inside. Just like how her mother used to be, really."

Ace didn't miss that note of longing in his voice, but he was too overwhelmed with embarrassment to care. The red in his cheeks deepened. "Oh! Oh, I'm so, so sorry." He stepped away from the two quickly. "I'm so- oh seas, I didn't know. I thought she was–"

The baker stopped him from retreating further with a mere touch on his shoulder. "No, no." His warm smile widened into a grin. "Thank you, son, for thinking kindly of my daughter when you could have walked away. If she ever sets out to sea, I hope she will find kind people like you on her journey."

Like the social butterfly he was, the teen was rendered mute, only able to choke out one-word answers after the entire humiliating debacle. The baker – who went by the name of Silva – managed to force him into two of the only available seats in the bakery. It was tucked into the corner, wherein he had to stoop through a low-arched way that kept him from sight of the public entryway.

He learnt as Silva pattered around the bakery that Jukuko Island had been under the protection of Whitebeard for at least a decade. They had few self-sustaining resources and nothing resembling a gold mine on the island. Pirates and marines alike therefore found them an unnecessary port to drop by unless they were in dire need of resupplying. Of course, there were those hopefuls who desired a kingdom to call their own. Whitebeard and his crew had come one day, thrown the intruders out, and planted their flag on the harbour to warn others away. The locals had seen peace for so long they had, on occasion, let their guard down.

"Probably why we have these new pirates on our island," he had said wryly. "They hide themselves near the north side. Not sure what they're waiting for, but we don't take chances with our own. Called Whitebeard and here they are."

"Do you travel with the Whitebeards then? Can't be a coincidence since they docked at our island today," Silva said, finally giving in to ask.

Ace swallowed the bits of that bread he had been so fascinated about (_"a donut, you mean?" as Silva had laughed)_ down his throat reluctantly. Across from him, Lucy munched on her own, his hat still hanging off her head. "You can say I'm travelling with them."

The baker eyed him in curiosity. "I see. Not one of them then?"

Ace shook his head. "No. They've been…kind enough to bring me across the New World." There was no point in telling Silva the truth, after all. It was obvious the man felt grateful towards the Whitebeards. He never liked ruining a good thing for others. If he could.

"Well, must be quite the adventure then."

Sure. Adventure. Right.

Silva managed to force another three donuts into Ace before he decided the teen was full enough (though it was leagues away from the truth). Night had fallen by then. The world outside the bakery was blanketed by a cheerless darkness, lit aglow only at selected partitions wherein streetlights littered the street. He could see the shadows of people walking past the shop, and he imagined the commanders scouring the town for their wayward guest. Imagined Marco flying overhead as his haki scoped the grounds for Ace's own distinct aura. But in the hours he had flared up against the commanders, no one had looked for him.

He could almost pretend that the past two months and two weeks were a distant nightmare. A lived reality that was but a passing dream. No Whitebeard would come to drag him back to the Moby Dick. No pretend-big-brother Thatch or severe-but-calm Marco that pretended to fuss over him. He would be free to do as he pleased once more. The thought made him happy.

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

Ace startled. "Huh? Yeah. Why do you ask?"

Silva frowned at him. "You looked a little sad there, for a moment." He smiled sheepishly. "Forgive an old man, eh? Must be my dad genes acting up."

When Silva discovered he had no place to sleep the night (_"There's a forest near the end of the island. I could just sleep there." "What? No! That's where the intruding pirates are!" "I'm a pirate too, you know." "To me, you're a kid who tried to help my child. Absolutely not."_), he had gone as far as to use Lucy to convince him to stay at their home just above the bakery. While Ace was certain he could refuse the man somewhat amicably, he was weak when faced straight-on with Lucy's pitiful brown eyes (so much like Luffy's, except much less annoying).

Before he took to the stairs, Ace found himself stopping by the interior door that would lead him to the showers. "Silva?"

The baker paused from wiping the countertop. "Yes, Ace?"

Ace was quiet for a moment. "What do you think of Whitebeard?"

If Silva was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "Whitebeard? I've never met him personally. But his men are kind. They keep us safe, and the only trouble they get up to here is drinking too much and then breaking things by accident. They always compensate us after." He chuckled. "It's almost funny, how one of Whitebeard's men would always berate them for their lack of manners. He'd punish them with the silliest of punishments too."

"Silliest punishments?"

Silva burst into laughter as he recalled the memories. "Yes. They would be grounded to their rooms, or given more chores, or– Oh, and once he punished them on the island too. He made them face the wall for an hour to reflect on themselves. The townspeople felt so sorry for the poor folks they would shout out encouragements." He shook his head in amusement. "Fancy that, eh? Strongest crew in the world, but they're just like the rest of us." He smiled in what Ace would imagine to be fatherly way to him. "What you did today for my daughter? That's what his men often do when they are here. I would imagine a crew like that would serve an even far greater man." Silva winked at the teen.

Ace forced a smile to his lips. "I see. Thanks. For…telling me," he mumbled. He turned to go up, then sighed. "That man you were talking about," he said as he angled his body back again. "Who was he?"

"Oh? I don't know his name. But you probably know him. Blonde. Looks like he'll fall asleep within a minute. Has the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen."

"Oh. And he wears the ugliest purple jacket too, right?"

Another burst of laughter. "Right. You caught me."

Ace thanked the still chortling Silva and turned to clean up for the day. He wondered once again why no one had come for him. Toyed with the idea that they had given up and left him alone with no further fuss.

_You looked a little sad there, for a moment._

Was this churning in his gut sadness then? But why?

* * *

_I would imagine a crew like that would serve an even far greater man._

Ace wondered what sort of Captain _he_ was.

This thought plagued the fire-user as he rose from his restless sleep at Silva's humble home. It was almost funny, really, that he felt more rested at the Moby Dick than in a place of his own choice. He washed up quickly as he banished the thought, already feeling the now normal tiredness pulling at his skin, and then stumbled downstairs to thank the man and take his leave.

Ace's plans were promptly cancelled by default when he saw Marco sitting by the same table he had the previous night. A cup of presumably coffee was in the blonde's hands. His eyes were closed, as if savouring the hot beverage, but the teen was under no illusion that the man was unaware of his presence.

"Ah, you're awake!" Silva called out from the counter. "I'm not done with breakfast yet, so take your time with your friend, alright?"

Ace muttered his thanks before sliding into his seat across from Marco. His heartbeat stuttered when the Whitebeard pirate blinked at him sleepily, though his eyes were as bright and clear. He took an unused cup from the tray next to him, then expertly poured some tea from one of the two kettles that Silva must have set out for them. Without a word, he pushed the cup towards Ace.

The teen took it in grudging silence. He wouldn't want to bother Silva with an outburst anyway. Nothing to do with how – as he took a sip – the blonde knew the way he took his tea. Tea, with generous servings of sugar mixed inside.

It was only when Silva dropped off some biscuits and pastries did Marco speak, somehow sensing that Ace wouldn't be the one to break the silence.

"We are closing in on the Shogai Pirates on the north end of the island this evening, yoi," he said. His voice was soft. As if attempting to rebuild the bridge between them. (But that was stupid, wasn't it? There was no bridge to begin with.) "They are openly hostile to anyone outside their group, especially towards non-locals."

Ace refused to acknowledge that familiar nagging tug on his stupid heart. Useless organ, really. What a pain. "How did you know I was here?"

Marco didn't even look away. "I was concerned."

"I'm not grateful," Ace said coolly. He gripped the rounded curve of his cup handle, careful not to shatter it. (_Break not what was not his. Break not what was his, _Makino used to say.) "You can't buy me over with your words and actions."

The commander leaned forward. His elbows rested on the surface of the oak table, and his fingers were clasped together as if in prayer. "What will work then?" He stared piercingly at Ace the way a man would try to peer into another's soul. "What must I do to show you your place amongst us?"

The teen's lips thinned in displeasure. That the man had the audacity to ask was… He breathed in to quell the sudden spike of irritation in his chest. "Look, Marco," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't know how to tell you that you can't force people to like you. Relationships can't be forced. You can be the greatest person in the world – and mind you, you're not – and I might still not like you. Even if I did, you have no right to make my decisions for me, or to take me away from the people _I_ care about." Then, in a stroke of genius (or stupidity, given how long it had taken for him to think of it), he added, "How would you feel if Thatch was taken away from you and forced to join another crew?"

The commander's visage hardened then relaxed. "We did this the wrong way," he admitted. "I apologise on behalf of my crew."

Ace froze as the words sank in. Marco just– did he just– Was that an _apology_? "Is that it?" he found himself speaking, suddenly and inexplicably angry. "All of _this_, and now you apologise?" He had to let go of the cup when his fists clenched. "Do you think that makes me feel better?" he demanded. "Do you think that makes everything okay? Do you even– _do you even know what you're putting me through_?"

"I'm sorry," Marco said again. There was passing regret in his eyes, but there was also the firm hard look of a seasoned sailor preparing for a storm. He lowered his arms such that his forearms rested on the table completely. "We have our orders, yoi."

Orders. Right. The unlikely mix of something unpleasant rippled within Ace. It was almost as if the weight was chained to his still beating heart, jumping in time with each heartbeat. Heavy, but light enough that he could pass it as a distant ache. "That's the problem, Marco. How can I join you when you see me as another toy on the shelf for you to purchase?"

"Has it occurred to you that we want you as you? With all your temper, shortcomings, and faults. Along with your mercy, your kindness, and your good heart."

Ace narrowed his eyes. "Don't patronise me. You don't know me."

"I know you better now than I did two months ago, yoi."

"Is that something to be proud about? You forced yourself on me. However way I reacted, it's because you wouldn't leave me alone. You can't fault me for being human."

For some reason, Marco stiffened at this. He glanced to the side, towards where Silva was in the next room, as if ensuring the man wouldn't hear the conversation. "Don't…say it like that."

Ace was unimpressed. "What? That you forced yourself on me? Is that how you bring yourself to do this? Self-denial?" he asked flatly. It would have been better if they had done it out of internalised narcissism. It would have been so much easier to be angry.

The look Marco cast at him before he pointedly took a sip of his coffee seemed stuck between exasperation and reluctant fondness. It was a look Ace remembered seeing a lot when he was younger, when another blonde took to lecturing him about everything under the sun. His attention was swiftly dragged back to the conversation when the commander let out a sigh. "…Ace, those words – specifically said in that manner – implies a certain…relationship between us."

"…okay?"

Marco's pinched look became more pronounced. "Do you remember that conversation we had a few days ago?"

Conversation? Ace frowned. He hasn't been speaking much with the crew lately. The only highlight he remembered was that utterly humiliating talk he had had with Marco about– he gasped. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he desperately tried to forget the image of those jerk pirates trying to feel him up. "What?" he hissed lowly. "Are you serious?"

Marco only huffed and looked away. He looked every bit the ever-suffering older brother.

Ace shook the image out of his head. What the hell. "Fine," he snapped waspishly. "You didn't force yourself on me. You forced your _company_ on me and I didn't like it. Is that better?"

"Infinitely, yoi. Thank you."

"I didn't do anything for you. Don't make it sound like I did."

Marco exhaled softly. "You know," he said as he tapped his fingers on the rim of his cup, "trying to make us hate you isn't the solution. We know you like us too."

_What?!_ "What? I do not!"

"Your accusations against us are not baseless, yoi. But you are not the first we've tried to recruit in this manner nor are you the first to turn us down. You only had to tell us in all seriousness that you wished to leave." Marco took a sip of his coffee. "You never did."

Ace had to shut his mouth with an audible click to muffle the strangled scream that lodged in his throat. "Are you saying this is my fault?" the teen hissed.

"I'm saying that I don't think you know what you want, yoi. I told you," the commander said seriously, "I wanted to see for myself what my father saw in you. And I have." He held up a finger when the younger pirate moved to speak. "You would also be correct in your declaration that I don't care for you the same way I do for my siblings. I can foresee that changing. You may not have chosen us, Captain of the Spades Pirates, but like us, you treasure the sacred bonds of family. You believe in protecting what is yours and you are…merciful to those you meet." The corners of his lips curled, but not enough to make a smile. "Like Silva's young daughter, Lucy. We started off on the wrong foot, yoi, I admit that, but can you not see beyond our mistake? We are more than just the Whitebeard Pirates. We are a family, and our offer is not one made in jest or on a whim."

Ace fought hard to pretend those last words didn't sound like a promise. He breathed in, deep and slow, before pushing out the air from his lungs. The farrago of doubts, fears, insecurity, hope, and confusion only served to twist his mind further into a pounding headache that pulsed at the back of his head. Marco was… _Damn it_. Ace knew the man was dangerous! He was right. Inside of Ace was a mess. It felt like someone had reached in, rearranged his insides, and then left him to rot under the sun. Forever wondering what it was that felt different and strange about him. Forever wandering the scorched lands for someone to untangle the knots inside him. The feeling of frustration was so suffocating he wanted to scream.

So, Ace did the only thing he knew.

"What do I have to do then?" he asked harshly. He ignored the rising bitterness that slammed against his ribcage. "What do I have to do for you to let me go?"

"Just this once," Marco urged, "consider it seriously, Ace. We have a place for you, yoi. Brothers, sisters, and a father who would rally at one word from you. Don't you want that?"

Ace knew that was a lie. Portgas D. Ace didn't fit anywhere in this world. That was why his mother had had to sacrifice herself so a place could be made for him to live. Maybe the Whitebeards weren't so bad, but how could he join his captors? His captors who have been the few people who had shown him kindness in a world riddled with despair?

Marco must have sensed the darkening spiral Ace's thoughts was plunging through. "Do you truly hate us that much?" he asked softly.

Ace visualised in his mind's eye the crew's repeated attempts to befriend him. The cleaned-up cabin for him. The personalised meals for his person. The conversations with the very man across from him. Imagined himself even running up to a giant man and calling him _Oyaji_. The thoughts struck a paralysing fear in his heart.

"No…but I think I could," he said, voice just as quiet.

"…is there nothing I can do?"

Ace pictured having an older brother caring for him the way he had Luffy. Someone to pull him close when his heart seemed to seize. Someone to pester when he was bored. Someone to guide him when he was lost. Someone who actually knew how to be alive.

"You can leave me alone," Ace said as his mind conjured the image of a blonde man sheltering him from the worst storms. He stood up, leaving his breakfast untouched (Would an older brother tell him off for not eating well? Luffy never had that problem). "You have your orders from your captain, yes. But it doesn't have to be _you_."

The first commander closed his eyes. "If all goes well, we leave tomorrow morning. Even if you wish to leave, you can't yet, not at this island. The waters here are too dangerous for you to sail out alone without your crew."

"Fine." Suddenly feeling suffocated, Ace downed the rest of his tea and left.

* * *

Marco held his breath for two seconds, before letting it out slowly across another six. He inhaled deeply and repeated the process until Ace had thanked the baker and left the shop.

_Watch over him, Marco. It is not my head that he seeks._

_Guide him along until he finds out for himself._

Honestly. What a headache. Looks like he had sorely underestimated the Spades Captain. Just when he had thought he'd broken through the pirate's guard… He pushed out another deep exhale. Being the first mate of the Whitebeard Pirates could be hard sometimes. It didn't help that he had been careless.

Perhaps the kid would feel better if he knew how terrible a headache he had gotten himself. Contrary to the younger pirate's beliefs, Marco was not oblivious to the…morally grey area his family was operating in. Rather, he had been stunned at Ace's accusation that they had believed themselves above everyone else. He had (still did) believed that bearing Whitebeard's mark was the best decision he himself had made. They were the possible best that a world like this could give. They had brought him so much happiness, given his life so much light.

When had he started believing it would be the same for everyone else?

When had he become so presumptuous to assume their way was the only best way?

Marco hummed as he finished the last sips of his coffee. Ace was one of those few people who lived so simply and yet so ideologically, so kindly and yet so temperamentally. Who were so unapologetically themselves the world had to bend around them. But he was still a kid. He needed someone to shelter him in a world that kept baying for blood. It just so happened that Marco liked to take care of others, especially those who– he derailed his thoughts with a shake of his head. He really was presumptuous.

How truly regretful if Ace decided to leave.

How pathetically regretful that Marco agreed wholeheartedly with his father's judgement. He should have known better than to question that old man's obscure manner of thinking by now.

As he planned for this turn in events, Marco wondered if Ace was aware that he hadn't disclaimed the impossibility of his potential initiation into the crew.

Honestly. What a headache.

* * *

**There it is. A lot of focus on non-pirates, but I felt this fic needed that.**

**Some minor discussion:**

**As how Ace is always portrayed in my fics, yes, he is always a confused mess of strong and fickle emotions. He is aware that he is wavering, but he's not quite sure why. And he's too afraid of the uncertainty that the Whitebeards represent to him. Most of all, I've always thought Ace had sailed with a death wish. Though he was naturally arrogant by virtue of his overpowering strength over Luffy and his many adversaries as Spades Captain, I did find it odd that Ace would challenge Whitebeard so quickly. We all know Whitebeard would have killed him (given how he stated it would be a pity if Ace's journey ended so tragically on that island with Jinbei). Was Ace that arrogant that he really believed himself strong enough to kill the strongest man in the world?**

**Some would argue that his desire for self-validation, for affirmed meaning in his self-worth, for proof that he deserved to be alive was so overpowering that he abandoned all sense and logic to go after Whitebeard. While I support this theory, I also thought that Ace wasn't quite ready to _live_ until he found that meaning in his self-worth. He must feel guilty for being alive when everyone says he shouldn't have been born. It was only by proving that he was above his father could he prove that he was separate from the man, that he deserved to live as his own person.**

**In this fic, I tried to angle it in the sense where the Whitebeards embodied more than just a prospective family for him. The whole father issues is compounded by his fear of living. If he accepted Whitebeard's offer, that also meant he had to abandon his dream for his own identity. That also meant he had to start _living_ without said identity. Without that crutch of 'I must find my self-worth first before I can live' excuse, Ace must now live for himself, with the added stress of new family members.**

**Ergo, kid is confused, terrified of the unknown, denies his emotions, and lashes out in a new way (acting cold and shooting arguments in a way that he knew would ruffle some feathers) that he hadn't tried before.**

**So...ta-daa. Okay, that's it. I should really end this here.**

**Do review, and let me know what you think! Will miss you guys till the next update! (Might update Mini Snapshots within the week cause it's so short, but no promises.)**


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